True Forces - a TMNT fanfic
by DenymBear
Summary: In this classic sequel to the original 1990 TMNT film, the Turtles and Master Splinter are settled into their new life with human friends and enemies. But a nostalgic visit to their childhood lair, abandoned after it was wrecked by the Foot Clan, exacts a terrible cost - and the Turtles must take the greatest risk of their lives in order to survive.
1. True Forces - Foreword & Aknowledgements

**Happy 30th Anniversary to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles The Movie (1990)**

SYNOPSIS: In this classic sequel to the original 1990 TMNT film, the Turtles and Master Splinter are settled into their new life with human friends and enemies. But a nostalgic visit to their childhood lair, abandoned after it was wrecked by the Foot Clan, exacts a terrible cost - and the Turtles must take the greatest risk of their lives in order to survive.

 **Introduction** : True Forces is a novel written by Sue Sitler in 1990 & '91 as a sequel to the original live-action TMNT film. The story, written on a Commodore 64 and printed on dot-matrix, became a legend among the pre-Internet circles of pen pal fandom, who passed it around via mail and the rare in-person meetup. A team of fans worked in the late '90s to OCR scan and then proofread those pages, which could then be uploaded for new audiences online. The webpage hosting it went dark around 2009, but fans did not forget - and after some excellent sleuthing by the folks at the Stealthy Stories TMNT forum and a wondering approval from Sue herself, it's been brought back to the world again. Enjoy it in all its early '90s glory! And if you like the distinctive writing style, check out the sci fi / fantasy of C.J. Cherryh, a huge influence on Sue's amazing voice. _**~ Ria-angelo**_

 **~o~**

 **Updated FOREWORD & Aknowledgements (2018)**

To the Reader:

First off, many thanks go to Ria-angelo for both previously and currently hosting True Forces for me, both in the early 2000's (Geocities) and currently here on Fan Fiction! As her life is now becoming as busy as mine used to be, I'm going to resume responsibility for the tale and post it here under my own User name - MEGA THANKS to Ria for getting the tale up until I could get myself organized enough to do that! She is every bit the Angel that her User name proclaims and she has my deepest and most heartfelt thanks for all of the online assistance, and more importantly, for being the best possible friend ever! (Please visit her posted stories - they're Awesome!)

Sue Sitler

November 2018

and PS - just because it's still valid, here's the Foreword that went out with the original dot-matrix hard copy, back in the day...

 **~o~**

 **Original FOREWORD (1991)**

To the Reader:

They say that forewarned is forearmed, and I have to admit that when I first went movie-going with my children to see Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles The Movie I suppose I wasn't - the kids had a good time, but I walked away captivated, mesmerized, and just starving for more of the same. I had been a purely recreational writer for about twenty years and all of my creative attentions suddenly descended into the sewers of New York, and they haven't come out since...

The vast majority of the story that had come to me had done so in the very first week or so of having viewed the film, and subsequent trips to the theatre were done as much for research purposes as for sheer entertainment value. I was looking for details and any that I had missed I was able to pick up as soon as the video was released (my attention STILL hadn't wavered, much to my husband's bewilderment) and I continued hacking away at my keyboard, trying to get the tale down on paper. It had simply continued to grow on me and I was having some trouble keeping up...as any of my writing was and always had been done pretty much for my own amusement, it always seemed to fall down to the bottom of my list of things to do...family and home and full-time employment slowed the transcription process to the point that the second movie came out before my own sequel was quite finished! The film sequel dealt largely with the mysterious ooze (as we all know by now - ) and so did mine, which left me somewhat disheartened because to reconcile my storyline with what had now become common public knowledge would mean a total re-write or utter abandonment, and I'd felt like I'd come too far for either...eventually I found a way to side-step the second movie altogether (I hope it's a satisfactory one!) and decided to just keep to my own plot, which I still (self-bias notwithstanding) liked better than the film sequel.

And so, a word of warning...this whole story was and is based entirely on the characters and situations presented in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles The Movie. Every effort was made not to contradict anything that those characters said or did, and only to expand on some aspects with an eye to plausibility and detail...from the beginning I wanted this thing to be REAL - or as real as I could manage to make it! The Turtles are such a wonderfully absurd concept, I seem motivated by a deeply-rooted desire to believe in them! Whether anything ever becomes of the story presented here, I can only hope that those reading it will have some small fraction of the fun that I had in writing it!

S. Sitler

October 1991


	2. True Forces - Prologue

_Author's note: As I was writing this story, and before it was fully completed, the TMNT sequel movie Secret of the Ooze came out -which was a bit of an issue for my tale, as my story was also concerned with the mysterious ooze. This prologue was my way of dealing with the second movie, entirely sidestepping it as best I could. So even though the prologue opens up this particular tale, it was the very last thing that I wrote for_ _it! So, just to reiterate: the story is based only on the first 1990 TMNT movie as a fan-fic sequel to it! Enjoy! Denymbear_

 **True Forces PROLOGUE**

It had been rather like a nightmare...all of it.

But it had all been real, even though there had been times, amid the pain and the haze of the painkillers they gave him, that it had been far too easy to believe otherwise...

Reality, he had learned, could be exceedingly strange indeed.

His current reality consisted of a clean, white hospital room. A private room, not out of his own preference - although that would certainly have been the case under other circumstances - but because he was considered a security problem, in spite of the very recent corrective surgery he had undergone and the resultant immobility. They suspected, quite rightly, that he had friends and allies.

The immobility was temporary, they had assured him. It would pass, eventually, along with the cast and the traction. He was enduring it as patiently as possible, but he was not known to be a patient man. It was another small portion of the nightmare that he dragged through the hours with him.

Day or night did not seem to make any difference in the nightmarish quality that his existence had settled into. His waking hours were spent in the presence of blue-uniformed civic authority, and if he was not dealing with one or another of that humourless lot, he was dealing with the cool detachment of the medical professionals that went about their business with him under the humourless scrutiny. He was refusing most of the painkillers, because he had been questioned a number of times and the drugs only made him more apt to let something slip inadvertently. He did not believe that he had, and the pain helped to keep his mind and his purposes clear. He was co-operative only with the medical professionals, insofar as their ministrations served his own best interests. These folk were beneath him, but they were useful, as things went. He had never been fond of hospitals. The days passed slowly with mind-numbing boredom. They did allow him a television, which was not very much relief from the boredom either, save for those few moments a day when Channel Three Eyewitness News aired.

One newscaster in particular had brought her lovely self to his attention, and she had given him more cause than enough to catch and maintain his interest, even before the injuries that she had been indirectly responsible for...he now made it a point to pay very strict attention to every newscast the woman made.

Sufficient attention, that the material often wound itself into his dreams, and turned those into nightmares too.

His subconscious worked on all of it; the pain, the injuries, as well as the enemies behind those discomforts - enemies that were another living, walking nightmare that plagued him. His own speculations about them wove into the information from the newscasts until it all began to make a warped sort of sense. It gave him something to mull over through the worst bouts of boredom.

One special report the O'Neil woman had covered on toxic-waste clean-up had actually sparked his best guesses concerning his enemies. He was going to have to do some research, or perhaps locate a knowledgeable scientist to exploit in order to follow some of those speculations up. He hoped he would find one a little less daft than that particular Professor had appeared to be, live on the Channel Three report. If the man had been acting, it had been a wonderfully deft performance...one that he could almost admire for its sheer, audacious, disarming charm. He filed the man's name, for future reference.

Scientific speculations were only another small part of both the conscious and subconscious ruminations. Betrayal and failure and behavioural hysteria had punctuated the dreams with a frightening persistence. He had never behaved hysterically in his life, and neither had Tatsu. He decided it must have been time for him to get away for awhile...rap music haunted him continually, and he was no more fond of rap music than he was of hospitals. Odd and irrelevant details became strangely significant. Pizza cropped up in the dreams with uncanny frequency, and he could only put it down to that unusually talented youth Tatsu currently favoured among his warriors, the one that very cleverly cased his local neighbourhoods while ostensibly making an honest living delivering pizza. He was not sure he would be able to trust that kid again. In the dreams, the kid had been operating on the _other_ side.

It was, nonetheless, still easy enough for him to dismiss all the nonsense, once he had winnowed out anything halfway reasonable. He could shrug off the pizza and the rap, could shrug off the images of the mad scientists and toxic waste leaking from broken glass containers. Who, after all, would store toxic waste in something as fragile as glass? But it was not so simple, or even desirable, to dispel the ideas that remained, once all the silliness was laid aside.

His enemies were real.

Some potentially exploitable agent or agency had been responsible for them.

And no matter how bizarre the imagery in his head became, it always, _always,_ whirled like a maelstrom around the central and far more bizarre figures of the nightmares -

Freakish things that his subconscious had dealt with by throwing monsters of his own against them.

They were five in number.

Four mutant reptiles - green and shell-backed and adorned in brightly colored masks, armed and very dangerous...

But not nearly so dangerous as the last...a creature whose past, vicious actions had haunted him most of his adult years, and to which the other ones answered. There had been a time in his life when he hadn't been bothered in the least by rodents.

Thoughts of that demon Rat stalked him now, day and night, but the images that came in the dreams were worse by far than those he conceived by day...he would exorcise that demon, he vowed. It had become the purpose for which he lived, enduring both the humourless company and the medical indignities alike.

Oroku Saki would have _revenge..._

~o~


	3. True Forces - Chapter 1

**_Author's note_** _: When I first started this story, it made sense to me at the time to catch the Reader(s) up on what the characters (including Shredder and Tatsu!) have been up to in the approximate six months or so along the time-line since we last saw them all at the end of the first movie. In retrospect, I probably should have started out with something a bit more exciting, but there are actually a few really important nuggets buried in the narrative, and some back story, along with (I hope) some revealing history. Also note – I was unfamiliar with the comics and what had previously happened there, so, really, I was making most of this up based only on what I saw in the movie! Lots of action upcoming, I promise – please be just a little patient with Chapter 1..._

 **True Forces Chapter One**

She was followed.

It had become habit, looking over her shoulder, even though she had never once caught sight of her followers. It wasn't something that even made her particularly nervous anymore. It had simply become a fact of her life. She took precautions. And sometimes, depending on just what her final destination was, very elaborate ones.

It was rush hour, and the subway platform was crowded, even between trains. It was another thing she had learned to take advantage of - timing and crowds. She had trained herself to get lost in the mobs, to take the time to miss a train now and again, or to get on one that was going the wrong way entirely and hop off at the next stop and back track. It was often a very time-consuming practice, but she never cut corners, and tonight was no exception. She was on her way to visit friends, and she was determined not to leave a trail that could be followed.

There was a large carry-all slung over her shoulder, bulging with a variety of items she had thought she would need for her evasive maneuverings. She sought out the public rest room at the next stopover and dug into the bag, moving with a pre-planned precision as she changed her clothes, trading sweatshirt for sweater, jeans for baggy overalls, and her imitation sheepskin bomber jacket for nylon skiwear in a bright neon pink. It was early March, and spring hadn't broken yet. It was freezing outside, and only marginally warmer in the subways. She became a blonde, pulled a matching neon pink toque over the wig and donned a pair of non-prescription glasses to boot. A large knapsack appeared out of the carry-all, which was then folded and stuffed into the backpack. She emerged, confident that she looked a new woman, or at the very least, a different one, and headed streetward to do some shopping. She never met her friends at rush hour, and she never went empty handed either.

An hour sufficed to drain her wallet and burden her with more bags than she really should have allowed herself. She considered retrieving the carry-all from its place inside the knapsack, but decided against it - the carry-all was too easily recognizable. It was something she used on a daily basis, and her followers would long since have learned to spot her by it. It was a tactic she employed deliberately, giving them an obvious flag with which to tail her when she was going about the routine business of work and domestic errands...it didn't bother her to bore them with those aspects of her life.

Rush hour was just about through. She descended into the nearest subway and spent an idle moment checking the subway schematic for the route she had opted to pursue today. It would kill another hour, and thin the crowds down considerably.

Her arms were weary with the shuffling of bags when she finally reached her last stop. The train pulled away and the platform cleared of passengers but she did not clear with them. She wandered the tiled surface, approaching the far end to set a couple of the bags down close to the last pillar and then shook her arms to restore the circulation in them. She vowed to stop doing their shopping for them.

Another train came and went. People came and went with it. She glanced at her watch. She wasn't sure which of her friends was planning to meet her tonight, but he was late again. She would give him another five minutes, and then she would become irritated. It was still cold, and she was feeling it now that she had stopped moving. Standing around made her nervous. Subway muggings _happened_ , if one stood around too long. She knew. She put her back to the tiled pillar and looked down the length of the nearly deserted platform until the five minutes were up. Then she turned again and just about jumped out of her skin with a sharp intake of breath, because there was someone there when her gaze came around. A rather odd someone, hulking and shapeless under a battered trench coat and decrepit felt hat.

She should have known.

 _"Still_ haven't switched to decaf, have ya, April?"

Michelangelo, more than any other Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, never could resist an opportunity to tease.

~o~

The bathroom drain was plugged again and backing up. Leonardo was both annoyed and concerned at the same time. He worked at it for a few minutes and finally fished out a sodden mass of rat-hair. He disposed of it with a scowl and wished that Splinter would stop shedding. It was the middle of winter; Splinter's pelt _should_ have been seasonally thick and staying in place.

He was wishing it was spring.

The winter had been long and cold and Leonardo really wanted to get out and lie in the sun somewhere for a couple of hours. He abandoned the cleansing of the tub and went to spin the steam valve control and let another blast of hot, moist air into the den, raising the temperature in the immediate vicinity. They were going to have to do something about making provision for dry heat before next fall - the steam was warm, but when the warm went, it meant damp, and damp cold was simply no good for Splinter these days...

A few hours sunbathing might have taken some of the ache out of Master Splinter's aging bones. The winter had been long for Splinter too, and harder than the old Rat cared to admit. Shredder and The Foot Clan had mistreated him badly, and he had gone into the cold weather a weakened shadow of his former elderly but otherwise hale self. Leonardo still got angry whenever he thought about it, just the same as he was still amazed that Splinter had managed to best Shredder on that rooftop last September, starving and battered though he had been at the time. It had increased the already considerable respect that the Turtles had for Splinter's abilities, because defeating Shredder was something that the four of them together in concert hadn't been able to do. Leo hoped April had had the chance to pick up the micro-furnace they'd asked for when she'd called to say she was going to drop by. The old space heater that Don had scavenged and rebuilt had finally radiated itself to death and even Donatello hadn't been able to resurrect it.

Leo glanced up at the clock, the same antiquated timepiece that had served them for so many years in their old den. Mike would be back soon with April and the place was still a mess. Donatello was sleeping and so was Splinter. He'd have to get them both up. Raphael had promised he'd be back before ten, and that he'd bring the pizza with him. Leo worried about Raph. Raph was wandering further afield than Leo liked to think about these days, and it bothered Leo more in the winter when the cold was apt to make him slow...leave any Turtle out in the cold too long and he would first go sluggish and then to sleep. But Raph was quite careful, they all were because they had almost lost Mike once that way, when they'd been twelve and Splinter had first started to allow them a certain amount of freedom. Fortunately, on that occasion they'd found him, curled up and torpid in a storm drain just a couple of blocks from the old den...he'd said afterwards he'd just only wanted to nap for a bit before coming home. It was a lesson they'd all taken to heart. Mike had been lucky not to have gotten himself frostbitten, or worse yet, frozen right to death. A really cold snap had followed, and Mike had _not_ been hibernating safely below the frost line. The incident had scared them all into a healthy respect for inclement weather.

Hibernation was something that Leo had missed this year, and in part, that accounted for the seeming length of the season...normally they would all go to sleep, for as much as a month or two at a time in the deep winter. Splinter had always maintained it was good for them, turtles that they were, but they had figured out a number of winters ago that it was primarily because scavenging food for the lot of them was an awesome task - one that had grown as they did and had also, without exception, fallen to Splinter. Being warm-blooded, Splinter didn't slow down or go to sleep in the cold, and he'd found it had always been easier to let them hibernate than it had been to keep them warm and fed. Winter was when scavenging was toughest - there was always increased competition from the street folk when the temperature went down.

They had slept alternately this year, and for no more than a few weeks at a time. They had been too busy for one thing, and too concerned for Splinter for another. They had taken care of him, from the moment after he had collapsed during their short-lived rooftop celebration, for the remainder of the fall, through the process of finding and moving to new quarters and down into the winter, when they had settled into the business of establishing a more routine, if changed, day-to-day lifestyle. The Turtles had been busy. The winter had been long, but it had also flown by, and in truth, hadn't been as hard as it might have been, because they had had April and Casey to help. Leo wasn't sure just how they would have managed without the help from their human friends.

They had plied Splinter with good food, from a stock of real groceries for once and fortified the fare with vitamins and over-the-counter medications that had helped to ease the arthritic ache out of old rat bones and put some meat back onto them. There had been thick wool sweaters to pull over thin and still shedding fur, and blankets beyond that too. None of it had been new, but even the second-hand stuff had been far above anything they'd ever salvaged on their own.

April had also spent time and energy digging up sewer maps and construction schematics, dug through archive after archive for them last fall and made the task of locating a new den a relatively simple procedure...they had used the maps to pinpoint promising sites, checked them out, and found their current place of residence after only a few weeks of effort. Casey had allowed the Turtles and Splinter to shack up with him temporarily, and the old farm truck had sufficed to move most of their worthwhile possessions from the old den to the new. It had all been done by the end of November.

And they had even come into their own small fortune.

Money was something the Turtles had seldom had. There were lost wallets on occasion, and lots of coins that found their way into the sewers. Finders/Keepers was a doctrine they had always adhered to and whatever they had found had always been the sum total of the liquid assets they'd ever been able to lay claim to. Pizza ordered by phone and paid for in cash had been a rare treat. But there were other things down here in the sewers...watches, bracelets, rings and all manner of other assorted jewellery that they had hunted up and collected for years and which Splinter kept in a non-descript old shoebox, much of which was real gold and gemstones. They had never been able to convert the stuff into real currency until Casey Jones had offered to pawn selected items (for a small commission of course) and brought what they considered substantial sums of cold, hard cash into their hands. The winter had been long in some ways, but it had also been one of the most comfortable, in a lot of others.

That was where Raph was today, off pawning stuff with Casey. April was coming to see them, and while they normally hoarded their treasures- the supply was not inexhaustible - they never, ever stinted when their friends descended under the streets to visit. Some of the nicer pieces of jewellery they had given to April, the only real way they had to thank her for everything that she had ever done for them, and all that she had ever agreed to accept. She was their best friend in the whole world, and they didn't see her nearly as often as they would have liked. April O'Neil was busy too, but still she worried about them enough not to want to lead their enemies to them.

It was a major concern for Leonardo. April was a highly visible target that the Turtles couldn't wholely protect. Casey took up a great deal of that slack, or had, until April and Casey had ceased to see so much of one another. April didn't seem to mind the hazard, and it was true that she took every possible precaution. She had some idea what sort of enemy she and the Turtles had made for themselves; her visits were always a risk, but one that they didn't mind taking because they really liked to see her. Leonardo was looking forward to it.

He got moving. One thing he wasn't looking forward to was having April see the mess that they hadn't cleaned up yet...

~o~

Raphael knew the number off by heart. He punched it into the phone in the booth across the street from their favorite pizzeria and placed his order. Then he had twenty minutes to kill before he could pick it up. He could get it home fast and hot. The den was only two blocks away and down one level.

His feet were cold. The boots that April had found for him weren't the lined sort for winter, but oversize galoshes designed to cover shoes and not big, green two-toed and very bare Turtle feet. He pulled the mitten back onto his hand. It was custom made, hand knit by April herself and in red to match his mask. She had knit mittens for all of them for Christmas and scarves too. He thought it was a great disguise, and Raphael always felt safe when he was out and about and all done up for winter.

There was money stuffed into the end of the mitten with his fingers, more than he needed for the pizza. He felt wealthy. He was in an extraordinarily good mood, in spite of the cold weather, which sometimes made him grouchy. He had planned for it though, and had put down four large mugs of hot chocolate before he'd left Casey's place. His feet might have been cold, but he still had a nice warm glow in his belly. The mittens and scarf helped to preserve it. He had it all figured out now and Leo usually worried for nothing. Winter didn't slow Raphael down anymore. Twenty minutes. Just enough time to do a favor that Casey had asked him to. Raphael left the phone booth, cast a hungry glance at the pizzeria and then moved off down the street. The errand wouldn't take him long. He fingered the money in his mitten. Yeah, there was plenty, he figured. Raphael smiled. He had an idea.

It turned out not to be such a good one. But he coped. It was hard to get the manhole cover up one handed. He had a couple of packages and two large pizzas under the other arm, and it was awkward balancing them there without doing them any harm. The pizzas he did not want to set down. They would get cold too fast. His other parcels were fragile and clumsy and he was being extra careful not to damage them. It wasn't much easier trying to climb down into the sewers, burdened as he was. He was muttering and swearing by the time he got to the bottom, both himself and all packages intact. It was an accomplishment, but there wasn't anyone there to cheer it. The storm drains were as deserted as ever.

Raph thought that was too bad. The underground didn't smell so much in the winter, when things were good and frozen, and they were pretty this time of year besides, all rimed with frost and hung with icicles. There was a large, frozen cascade at one junction that he thought was particularly spectacular...it looked just like a suspended waterfall and it was covered with a sheen of hoarfrost that made it sparkle when he shifted past it. The light from the sewer bulbs hit it at just the right angle...

He hoped Mikie had brought April by to see it. He had told him to, even though it was a block out of their way from the subway. Michelangelo had no appreciation for such things, but April, he was convinced, could have enjoyed it. She had taste and class. Raphael hustled along. The pizza was going to get cold. He could always come back and sightsee with April later. First things first. This stuff cost, and he intended to appreciate it at its best.

He knocked loudly on their front door when he got there, put the three smaller of his parcels behind his back and pretended to be a delivery man with the pizzas balanced on one mittened hand in front of him. The door opened almost at once, so Mike must have just arrived with April...she still had her coat on.

Michelangelo appropriated the pizza. "Don't stand out here with that Raph! It'll get cold!" He whisked it away to the kitchen. Raph had figured that much. It left him there with April.

She smiled at him. "Hey, Raph. Long time, no see." She came and patted his cheek as he peeled the scarf off. He reached behind his back.

"Here," he said, "These are for you."

It was a dozen red roses under the paper that she opened to look. "Oh! Raph. You shouldn't have!" She reached out and pulled him over, gave him a kiss on the same cheek she'd patted. He had known she'd do that too.

"Ooohhh..." His brothers all teased in unison from deeper inside the den. He had gotten used to that. In fact, he didn't mind it much at all anymore. He knew that he was April's favorite Turtle.

"I didn't," he confessed. "Those are from Casey. But these..." he brought his other hand around. "Are from me." That was a handful of pink and white carnations. He hadn't wanted to outdo Casey.

The other three cleared their throats.

"Okay! Alright. They're from us." Raphael let his shoulders slump in mock disappointment. "This one though," he brought out the final parcel from behind his back. "Is from me." It was a single spectacular orchid.

She grinned at him and gave him another kiss, just to annoy his brothers. "Raph..." she began, warning tone. "You've gotta stop..."

"Com'on April! Who else do I get to send flowers to? Besides, I saved the delivery charge on the pizza didn't I?"

"Com'on, both of you!" Mike interrupted. He had learned enough manners not to start eating without guests present at the table and he was impatient. "We'll be sending flowers to your funeral director if you don't get over here and eat this pizza while it's hot, Raph."

"As if you'd let it last long enough to get cold anyway," Raphael grumbled back. "You eat that pizza before I get there and I'll be sending flowers to _your_ funeral director." Raph was divesting himself rapidly of the overcoat and boots. Michelangelo was capable of devouring pizza at a truly phenomenal rate when he was hungry. Raph was hungry himself, and wasn't about to take that risk in any case. As soon as April had hung her own coat, he escorted her to the table. "So where's Splinter?" He always asked. They worried about Splinter these days.

Donatello had flipped up the lid of the first box. "Sleepin'. Getting warm. April brought our new heater and I just got it plugged in. Hey! Where's the olives?"

"Same place as the mushrooms, if you'd care to check the _other_ box before making nasty accusations. Excuse them, April. They have no class." Raphael deftly relieved Don of the pizza he had as he ducked the wadded-up napkin Don launched at him. "Double cheese, ham, bacon and pepperoni?" He offered April the first slice.

She was having difficulty keeping her face straight, but she accepted with good humoured grace. She knew them pretty well by now, certainly better than to be the least bit offended by their table manners. Or the lack thereof. "Why, thank you, Raphael. And before I forget, I've got something for you guys too."

April reached down under her chair and into the backpack that she'd brought over to the table with her. "You've been waiting for this!" She tossed a few pages of photocopied material down in front of Leonardo.

Leo tilted his head to look at them, and his eyes opened wide. "Hmmm! Ooohhh! April! You got them!" His mouth was full, and he slurred the words in excitement. "How'd you get these?"

April smiled and winked at him. "Trade secret. Let's just say I had a few favors to call in. I think you'll find it very informative."

Mike leaned over to Don. "What have we been waiting for?" he asked in an urgent whisper. "I've forgotten."

"I dunno. What is it Leo? Another one of your maps?" April was always bringing stuff for Leonardo. He always needed or wanted something couriered in from the Library...

"These," Leo told them, carefully wiping his fingers on the corner of the tablecloth before picking the papers up. "Are copies of the medical reports from the hospital that they sent Shredder to...wow. He was really messed up, huh?"

"Really?" Raph almost choked on his pizza. "So what's it say?" He elbowed April. "Good work April. Splinter'll really like that too." Raph reached over and flipped open the lid of the pizza box that Mike and Don were working on together. "Save some of that " he warned them. "Splinter only likes the ones with all that green stuff on 'em." Raphael didn't care much for vegetarian style pizza, although he would eat it if nothing else was available.

"It says all kinds of things. Male Oriental, name unknown, gives approximate age, weight, all that stuff...here we go multiple injuries. Cuts and abrasions, including one lacerated bicep "

"That's the one you gave him!" Mike interjected.

"Yeah, maybe. Minor internal injuries, a couple of cracked ribs. And here's the big one: fractured left femur. Shattered, it says. Recommends surgical replacement. Did you check into that? Can we? There can't be too many places where he could have that done. Are there? April?" Leo looked up from the papers.

She cleared her throat. "Hey, hold on a second. The police couldn't track him down, what makes you think that I can? And besides, there do happen to be a lot of places that he could have something like that done. They never even found out what his name was before The Foot broke him out of the hospital."

"You're better than they are." Leonardo told her, in a very matter-of-fact tone, and she blushed.

"Not that much better."

"Matter of opinion."

"Leo - "

"April - "

"Don't fight with me, Leo," she teased. "You usually lose. And besides, your pizza is getting cold."

"Ummm...yeah. I suppose," Leo said, apparently deciding not to argue, agreeing with one or the other or maybe both of those statements. "But - "

"But what does it say about chances of recovery?" Donatello slipped the question in. "Or does it?"

Leo flipped through the pages again. "Doesn't. Was this everything April? Or was it everything you could get?"

"All I could get. But I checked with a few medical friends of mine and they seemed to think, based on this information, that chances for recovery were pretty good."

"Oh. That's really too bad." Raphael let out a disappointed sigh. "Guess Shredder's not so easy as all that to get rid of."

"No, Raphael, he most definitely is not." Another voice spoke from behind them all.

Splinter was up. Mike jumped up and quickly made room for him at the table. "We saved you some pizza, Master Splinter!" Mike told him. "It's got everything you like on it too."

"Thank you, Michelangelo. Miss O'Neil," Splinter inclined his head toward April. "You are a most welcome guest. I trust the Turtles have seen to your comfort?"

"As always, Master Splinter. How are you keeping these days?" April reached across the table to give Splinter's hand an earnest pat.

"Well enough, thank you for asking. But I will be glad when it is spring, all the same. You have brought some news of Shredder?"

"Only old news, I'm afraid. Medical reports from the hospital. They're months out of date now." Raphael offered April another piece of pizza from their own box. She took one and continued. "Shredder may just be back on his feet by now. No telling. But there's some information here that you might find enlightening."

"I am sure that it will make for interesting reading. We must all thank you for the effort you have put into obtaining this information. It is, as always, appreciated." Again, Splinter inclined his head.

"Hey, forget it." April shrugged it off. "Wish I could tell you just what he's up to instead."

Raphael watched as Splinter smiled a tiny, humourless smile. "Doubtless, we will find out, whenever the Shredder is ready," he said quietly, and there was a moment's uneasy silence around the table.

Raphael hated it when Splinter put a damper on things.

He cleared his throat loudly himself. "Hey, that pizza's gonna be stone cold pretty soon...better eat it up or we'll have to get Don to nuke it." Donatello was the only one who ever dared to use the broken down microwave that he'd brought home one night last fall. It was fused permanently onto the HIGH setting and would occasionally emit the most alarming sort of blue sparks when operating. No one thought it was safe.

The threat had the desired effect. Splinter dove right into the pizza box for whatever Mike and Don had left there for him.

Don glared at him playfully. "Raph, are you insinuating that my repairmanship is somewhat less than satisfactory?"

"Hell, no..." Raphael muttered. "It's just like new. Shredder loves electronics...why don't we just pack it up and send it to him as a get-well present?"

That comment had the desired effect too.

Michelangelo cracked up and the insults started to fly.

They got down to some serious partying...

~o~

The television was on and tuned to the news. Tatsu was waiting to hear the most recent weather report, but when it came it just made him scowl. Not only was the cold going to continue, there was going to be snow. And if there was going to be snow in the city, then there was going to be a lot of snow upstate, and that was where he was headed, just as soon as the rush hour traffic cleared and he made one last stopover at the warehouse. Tatsu hated driving, even under the best conditions. He snapped the TV off, tossed the remote onto the table and was still scowling when he pulled his favorite winter hat on, the leather one with the fur lined flaps and rim. It matched his coat, and his boots, and the reflection in the mirror made him want to smile...he looked like an invading Mongol, and the scowl added to the overall effect of the black and the bits of fur. It was a seasonal eccentricity that he liked to indulge in. He nodded once to himself in idiosyncratic satisfaction, found his car keys and went to work for the day.

He arrived late. The snow had started, only a light flurry, but it did nasty things with the traffic. The renovations were already in progress. The warehouse was old, just as the last one had been, and it needed work. Tatsu had put the work off, until he'd known he would be going out of town for a few weeks, and then given the contractors the go-ahead to start in on the improvements to the fifth floor of the warehouse that was going to become his principal domicile in the very near future. There was considerable noise and dust, which he was tolerating at the moment, knowing that it was definitely going to be worth the nuisance, once the noise stopped and the dust settled.

Tatsu was getting very tired of the small apartment he had been stoically inhabiting since the police had descended in force on the Brooklyn warehouse that had been the New York headquarters of The Foot Clan. It had been a costly loss...time, energy and money had been poured into the property, all of that a write-off now, and the contents had represented another substantial amount of revenue that had been very promptly impounded. A further loss, because they would never realize any profit at all from that stolen inventory.

Secrecy had gone too. There had been loose tongues, and betrayal of the Clan, that same night. Loyal manpower had landed in jail and some of those men were still there - even their legal wizards hadn't been able to get them all out, not without compromising deeper levels of Foot Clan influence. The effort would continue, and compensations be made for lost time and inconveniences suffered. The Foot Clan valued and rewarded loyalty. It was another ongoing expense, costly again. Only the real estate itself had been preserved, and that only because the warehouse belonged, in fact, if not on paper, to The Foot Clan, through another impressive array of legal wizardries and no small number of dummy corporations. It had not been a total loss, that rainy late-September night, and he had escaped the police net himself, having left the premises in a daze and with a concussion, in senseless pursuit of the street hood that had bested him with a golf club...it had been a painful, but fortuitous encounter in many ways.

Tatsu had recovered most of his wits by the time he'd reached the street above the sewers that their enemies had, at the time, called home. Enough of his senses to have faded into the shadows, to watch as the authorities pulled Master Saki from the back of a garbage truck, seriously injured and close to death from suffocation. The street hood had been responsible. Tatsu had questioned his own witnesses in the days and weeks that had followed. He had worked from secondary and more scattered Foot strongholds, gathering what of their forces had escaped the police net as well. There had been more than he'd thought initially. Those that the Turtles had defeated underground and left lying in the sewers had been overlooked. Tatsu himself had planned and engineered the operation that had succeeded in spiriting Master Saki out of closely guarded hospitalization and sent him instead into private care behind a barrier of false identity and a cleverly contrived story to explain the injuries the hood had doled out.

Tatsu owed that one, and it was a debt he intended to pay, with interest. That they did not yet know who the hood was or where to find him was immaterial. There would always be a way to find out, so long as the O'Neil woman so foolishly remained in New York and twice as foolishly remained an on-the-air broadcast personality. She would lead them, eventually, to the street hood, and to the rest of their enemies. Lead them right to whatever hole the Rat and its Turtles had crawled into to hide...

She was currently under loose surveillance. The Foot knew her new address and her general routine. Tatsu would, from time to time, assign a ninja, several of them, to tail her, just to give the men the practice. She was not to be accosted for any reason, just to be observed. It was an occasional exercise. She was aware of it, intuitively, he supposed, and had adjusted her habits accordingly. It gave him some small satisfaction, to know that they inconvenienced the woman that had been, after all was said and done, the root cause of so much trouble for them. She had time yet.

Master Saki had said to leave her alone, for the time being, to keep the status quo. Tatsu understood. When the time came, it was Oroku Saki that would make the first move. Tatsu was not the only one with debts to be paid in full.

The time was not yet. Master Saki was not fully recuperated. The injuries had been extensive enough that multiple corrective surgeries had been required to effect complete recovery. There was one more operation scheduled, one more period of enforced inactivity for Master Saki to endure, and after that, a time for him to rebuild strength, both for himself and for The Foot. The lessons had been costly, in every sense of the word. But they knew now, what they were dealing with.

They were not sparing any expense. The time for vengeance would come. Before midsummer, by Tatsu's reckoning.

And they would be ready.

~o~

Donatello had never figured it out.

He was visiting Casey Jones at work, by special invitation, Casey having run into a rather knotty problem that was, so far, demanding the best of their combined general/technical/mechanical skills and, failing that, their best educated guesswork...

Casey had found himself a job that he actually liked, and one that Donatello personally thought he was ideally suited for. It had begun, Don suspected, as an attempt to impress April with an ability to secure legitimate employment, as she had accused him once of vagrancy in the course of one heated disagreement at the farm. His efforts to do so had landed Casey his present position. It was one that had gone from 'general handyperson required' to 'chief superintendent' very quickly, when Casey had exhibited an innate talent for the management and operation of an aged community arena.

The place was as old and run-down as the neighborhoods that supported it, and it needed the sorts of attentions that Casey was capable of providing. Not only could Casey fix things on a shoestring (being well acquainted with shoestring living himself) but he had an interest in the place that went far beyond the fact of the pay check - Casey liked to fix things, liked the loose and self-directed schedules he was permitted to keep, and truly loved to watch the young hopefuls that came there to skate, be they future Olympic figure skating champions or big league hockey stars. He was even able to bounce rowdies from time to time, and that satisfied a number of his deeper, more aggressive tendencies too.

Donatello also suspected that it was the 'hockey' part that attracted him most, because Casey was getting more deeply involved in sideline coaching all the time. Casey Jones had come to practically live for the place, as much as he had come, literally, to live in the place. Casey had worked out a deal with the owners, had cleaned up and refurbished an unused corner of the arena basement and moved in in lieu of a salary increase the last time it had been offered. It solved a housing crisis for Casey, and provided the owners with inexpensive on-site security, resolving an on-going vandalism problem that had been plaguing the property. That hosand that was the part that Donatello didn't understand. Casey didn't seem to mind the dark warrens of the arena's lower level, but he still shuddered at and shunned the sewers as if there was a difference between the two. Certainly whatever that difference was hadn't made itself apparent in his eyes. Must have all been in Casey's head...he was very careful not to mention it. Casey Jones had carved himself a relatively happy little niche and Donatello wasn't about to spoil it for him. Casey had other problems to deal with.

"Here," Casey dropped a couple of parts catalogs onto the workbench they were sharing at the moment. "Let's check these ones."

"They're old. Casey, these are out of date," Don pointed out, flipping through the first two.

"So's the Zamboni."

"Huh. Yeah." That much was true. The antiquated Zamboni that they were trying to fix was museum material. Parts were tough to come by, and that was the root of the knotty problem. They were trying to make do, or find something else that might, if the proper replacement parts couldn't be had. Casey had let him drive the Zamboni late one night.

Don had had a lot of fun at it...he wanted the thing working again, just as much as the owners whose budget did not allow for a more modern machine.

"So did Raph ever get those flowers for April like I asked him to?" Casey said, bringing up the subject for the first time tonight.

"That was weeks ago, Casey. 'Course he did. Nice ones too. She liked them." He didn't ask if she'd called to thank Casey for them or not. Figured that maybe she hadn't, not to be rude and unappreciative, but to make a point that Casey was trying real hard not to accept.

April and Casey weren't seeing one another anymore. Things just hadn't worked out for them. There wasn't enough common ground between them, they were both too aggressive, and they had done little more than fight with one another any time they went out. The Turtles were probably their strongest common bond, but that wasn't much basis for a relationship, no matter how one wanted to look at it. Splinter had warned all of them not to meddle, and to let their human friends work it out for themselves. Or not, as it had turned out.

April had left the roses in the sewer that night, had taken the carnations and the orchid and left the roses behind, a message for them, as much as it might have been for Casey, if he'd been there or if they had elected to tell him.

They had not, not even Raph, who was probably Casey's closest confidant, insensitive boor that he sometimes was. Even Raph had better sense than to say something that would hurt Casey's feelings, and there were some strong ones, when it came to April O'Neil.

"This looks like it might work." Donatello changed the subject again very quickly, got it back onto the mechanical problem, just wishing that Casey would stop pining. That became the immediate topic of discussion for the next few minutes. Casey could take a hint, usually.

"So " Casey went on then. "So what's the latest community service update? What's Leo got goin' these days?"

"Don't ask." Donatello groaned. "It's unreal, Casey...he's discovered maps and research. He's got military designs on every street gang he's been able to identify. He's got a schedule all set up for us. I'm beginning to worry about him."

At first, Leo's single minded pursuit of their long-range objectives had been a pleasant change. While Splinter had been ill and recuperating, Leonardo had assumed most of the responsibility and authority around the den and the rest of them had been lax enough to allow it...Leo had always been their unofficial ring-leader anyway and the happenstance had been a natural enough one. Sometimes though, Leo got a bit bossy, something that he and Mike had normally shrugged off and which Raph had taken physical exception to on occasion. Most of the authority had migrated back to Splinter, but certain attitudes had lingered. April had taught Leonardo how to find things out, and Leo had used that knowledge to get truly organized...

Leo learned to scan the newspapers, listened to the news, tuned into the police wavebands on the old radio Casey had provided for him and kept notes. He had an enormous city map (courtesy of April) thumb tacked to the wall and it was now liberally perforated with dozens of brightly colored pins that identified trouble zones. Leo had made a solemn pronouncement recently, declaring that they had a lot of work to do.

"Better tell him to be careful - some of those gangs pack guns."

"He's got those ones marked in red - Splinter told him not to go looking for too much trouble."

"Smart Rat," Casey commented. "Raph goin' along with all this?"

"So far. He's reserving the right to object though - says it all looks very well on paper, but just getting to some of these places will take days if we have to hoof it. Theory is one thing. Doing it's another."

"Yeah, well, he's probably right. And before I forget again, take this stuff home with you when you go too." Casey reached under the work bench and retrieved an oblong cardboard box, the contents of which had a distinct metallic rattle to them. "He might need these, you never know."

Don opened the folds across the lid. "Ooohhh. Casey, you actually made 'em up! Raph thought you were just kidding!"

There were four pairs of newly manufactured sai inside the box. Don reached in and pulled one pair out to check them...Casey had promised the weapons to Raph months ago, when he had first discovered the small, but well equipped machine shop here in the arena's basement.

Weapons, for Raphael and Leonardo especially, were something they sometimes considered a problem. Bo were easy enough to come by - any stout broom handle would suffice - and even Mike's 'chuks weren't too hard to make up. But Raph's daggers and Leo's swords would have presented serious replacement difficulties, if and when replacement ever became necessary. It was one of the main reasons Raphael got so upset when he lost a sai.

Casey sympathized. He could obtain his own weaponry from any sporting goods store himself. Casey had actually investigated the possibility of buying spares for both Leo and Raph, only to find that ninja daggers and ninja swords were not especially cheap in the city, county and state of New York. So, while they were possible to come by, one just had to be willing to pay and they were on a tight budget.

Someday Don would have to ask Splinter just where and how he'd managed to lay hands on them.

The weld joints looked good on these sai...and the balance seemed all right too. Don wasn't sure he was a fair judge of that though.

Splinter and Raphael would have to see if these passed muster or not. "Looks good Casey...thanks! Raph'll really appreciate these. Splinter'll probably want us all to practice with 'em now though."

"What? You mean, like homework or something?"

"Yeah...or something. Thanks anyway. From Raph."

Casey shrugged. "He's welcome. But you can all watch out if you go looking for those gangs packin' guns. Those won't stop bullets. Stick to the guys with knives and chains instead."

"We'll see, Casey." Donatello said amiably. And likely they would, before too long, now that spring was breaking and it was warming up enough that they didn't mind venturing out more often. Donatello was willing to try just about anything once...

Even some of Leo's schemes-

~o~

Good journalism.

It was turning out to be good journalism, April decided. The studio was all abuzz with activity...technicians scurried, make-up was adjusted, the lights came on. It had been the editor's idea, but she had taken up the ball and run with it, because it was, after all, her story, even if she couldn't really tell it except from a rather distant and uninvolved viewpoint.

She was participating in a panel discussion tonight. The topic was Vigilante Justice and her co-panelists included one of their own reporters, a Professor of Psychology, a legal expert from the Department of Justice and a very flustered looking Chief of Police - Ross Sterns wasn't fond of publicity and was very much out of his usual element here in the studio April found it quite amusing, but she also found some sympathy and a few kind words for the Chief before they actually went on the air. He would warm up to it, and forget where he was, once the discussion got going.

He had grumbled at her, not entirely unexpectedly. "Go do your own job, O'Neil - and for God's sake leave me alone to do mine!" The grumble was there, but the bite had gone from what he had once dished out her direction...she and Sterns were technically at peace, and had been ever since The Foot Clan had been uncovered and dealt with, officially and otherwise. He had, she'd been told afterwards, actually been onto them, and her reporting had been messing up his investigations. He had even admitted to putting Charles up to the attempt to keep her quiet on the matter, right to an apology when he'd heard Charles had fired her for it.

They had been getting along tolerably well since. Sterns hadn't called her out on the carpet for months.

The floor director dispensed instructions. It was show-time...

The moderator made introductions after a brief synopsis of the topic. April smiled when her own name came up, nodding toward the camera as it panned her direction. She was looking forward to this discussion, secretly amused by the knowledge that she had a very special audience with an exceedingly keen interest in the subject matter.

Splinter and the Turtles would be watching. She would address them indirectly and they would love it, especially Michelangelo, who revelled in that sort of attention. They were, after all, the whole point of the program-

Leonardo had put himself and his brothers to work cleaning up the streets, and after only five and a half weeks of effort, they had put themselves into the news as popular, if somewhat mysterious, street heroes.

There was a commercial break and a moment to relax. Then they were right into it. The Justice Department and the Police had first say.

Sterns was taking a hard-line approach to the matter. Her own angle was to play Devil's Advocate...

"As most of our viewers are probably already aware," she began, when it finally came her turn. "I've been following this story closely from the Crime Beat. It seems to me that the activities of the so-called 'Vigilante Gang' seem to have had only a positive impact. Criminal prevention appears to be their main aim."

"Assault is still assault, Miss O'Neil," Sterns countered her from across the debating table. "It's always a concern for the Police Department when citizens, any citizens, decide to take the law into their own hands."

"And yet have they? It seems rather that the term 'vigilante' is a misnomer in these incidents, Chief. 'Vigilante' implies that justice is carried through, that judgments are made and penalties meted out. The individual or group of individuals at work here in the city have done nothing more than interrupt crimes already in progress and apprehend those criminals involved. Unless I misunderstand badly, the police have been summoned to the scene of each incident and the police have taken matters in hand from that point. Are these vigilantes not performing a valuable community service in the apprehension of those criminals?"

"I'm not disagreeing with any of that, Miss O'Neil, however, there always exists the possibility that such tactics will, somewhere along the way, be taken to extremes. It is also a problem for the Police Department when no witnesses can be found to have seen the criminals in action, providing few grounds for us to hold these alleged criminals on any charges."

"Is it lack of evidence when known felons are interrupted in the course of burglary, found with the goods in hand, so to speak?"

"Such evidence is primarily circumstantial. To date, none of the criminals so apprehended have remained in custody for any length of time, due largely to the lack of concrete evidence against them. You might be best to address that issue to our guest from the Justice Department." Sterns nodded to the gentleman in question, and that was the direction the discussion went next. There was another commercial break, and then the psychologist had her say - April was able, during that segment, to slip in a few very complimentary remarks that her friends were sure to note.

She kept it deliberately vague, however...Splinter and the Turtles were, unfortunately, not the only members of the viewing audience that either had, or could very easily figure out, the real story behind the Vigilante Gang.

~o~

Oroku Saki had been thinking.

He had had ample time to do so as his body had healed from the injuries which his enemies had inflicted upon him. His thoughts had been very much bent on those same enemies.

The Rat.

The Turtles.

And at least two humans that these counted as friends and allies.

He could not be certain how many other humans might also have been included in this last category, but Saki was innately convinced that the number was small. The hazards of public exposure that these creatures would face increased geometrically if their secrecy was compromised...and he understood intimately the hazards of a compromised secrecy only too well himself, curse that O'Neil woman again! To date, and in spite of the fact that they were providing fodder for the media these days, the general populace at large was still ignorant of the creatures' existence.

An existence with which he and other members of his organization were far too well acquainted.

Freaks of nature, he had himself called them once. But he had been thinking about it and he had changed his mind. Freaks, yes. But not of nature. These...creatures...had been engineered. Somehow. He had theories. He would prove one of them someday.

They were intelligent on a human scale. They moved with a speed, skill, and competence of training that few humans could equal. The Turtles he alone had been able to deal with, save by the weight of sheer numbers. And the Rat-

Oh, that accursed _Rat_...

Saki closed his eyes and carefully schooled away the rage that the merest thought of the Rat had the capacity to arouse in him.

Splinter, they had named it. One day he would reduce its bones to just that. He would nail its hide to the wall. He made vows to himself. The Turtles' shells would also be wall trophies. He would have brass name plates to accompany each, for the things did have names, just as the Rat did.

He knew only one - Leonardo.

The drawing the Pennington boy had carried had borne the information. In anger he had thrown the paper back at the boy, and he lived now regretting the action, for, little though it might have been, it had been a source of information about his enemies. Such sources were scarce.

The elder Pennington had sent the boy away to an unknown boarding school out of state, and left New York himself a month or so later, having, he had learned, procured employment elsewhere under another identity. A wise man, Charles Pennington. Saki had lost interest. While the boy had for a time been useful, he was, nonetheless, just a boy who had been making serious mistakes with his life. The youth had possessed too much conscience to have retained any long term value and would have come, sooner or later, to a bad end. The Penningtons no longer concerned him. His true enemies were much closer to home.

Splinter and its Turtles.

April O'Neil and the as yet unnamed street hood she had been consorting with...the one Tatsu was itching to settle permanently.

And haunting him from the past, another name that stirred hate in his soul. Hamato Yoshi. A matter that he had considered settled all these many years. Yoshi striking at him from the past to make the present difficult and the future less certain than Saki had visualized not so very long ago.

He did not think that even Yoshi could have imagined the warriors that would come to wreak their vengeance on him. Or perhaps not. For Yoshi had been a graduate student, a scientist in genetics when he had not been busy practicing and competing in ninjitsu. The Rat had spoken only of his Master Yoshi, and it was conceivable that the creature had not known or understood what else Yoshi might have been, or even just what it was itself. It had been more than just an ordinary pet. Much more, Saki now surmised in retrospect, Yoshi had probably bred the thing.

Stretching, Saki flexed his muscles, feeling, on the whole, quite limber and lithe, in spite of the dull ache in his left hip that he doubted would ever truly go away. That pain was tolerable, and could be schooled away to the same place his anger for the Rat could be. He closed his eyes, again striving to recall details about the creature he had seen those few times in Yoshi's home...incredible, it seemed now, that their rivalry had once been a friendly one.

The rat had been plain brown, unremarkable in its color, if in little else. It had been much larger than most, closer to the size of a small cat, and it had carried itself most of the time in an upright position - although, he mused, it had always been caged when he had seen it and that perhaps may have been its typical confined posture. It may or may not have run on all fours, when allowed. Saki would probably never learn. It had been a bright-eyed and curious creature. Attentive. It had watched.

Not just a pet. An experimental discard he suspected. Something that had failed in the labs, or Yoshi would never have been permitted take it home when the experiments had been concluded. Failed, of whatever it had been designed to prove.

An unbelievable success in other areas.

Neurologically it must have been a wonder. Possessed of total recall, he also suspected, and it had not only watched, it had learned.

Eidetic memory. Had to be. The creature had still been a pet in a cage when Yoshi had died.

Yet the Rat, and its Turtles, knew ninjitsu, as only Yoshi could have taught it. The old style. Ninjitsu in a form that was more traditional and pure in technique and execution than most martial arts nowadays seemed to be, in which different disciplines frequently crossed over, borrowing from one another. Tatsu was a master of the newer forms and quite, quite dangerous for it - no traditionalist, not Tatsu, who had found freedom from the many strictures of Oriental tradition here in America and flourished as a consequence. Tatsu was capable, competent and loyal beyond question, in spite of the mercenary tendencies that were a part of what made him such a deadly foe to any enemy.

A small smile of genuine affection touched Saki's lips. Tatsu had seldom failed him, not in all the years they had known one another. The acquaintance dated back to the time he had come to New York seeking his revenge on Hamato Yoshi. He was pleased to have Tatsu on his side and equally glad that they now shared a common goal regarding common enemies. It was not a matter of following orders now. It was personal, for both of them. There was no better wall to have at his back than Tatsu.

He glanced up at the clock, thinking of Tatsu, whom he was expecting to arrive soon. Saki worked his way from one end of the exercise floor to the other, practicing the lightning motions that had regained most of their former fluidity. Satisfied, after a few repetitions, and after another consultation with the clock, he retired to his personal apartments adjoining the exercise area and vanished for five minutes into the shower. Emerging, he towelled off and then slipped into the black, form-fitting dogi of The Foot Clan.

The Foot, like himself, was now back to its optimum strength, a task he'd left to Tatsu and at which Tatsu had worked with a diligence to match the energies he had applied to his own recovery.

He had timed it well. There was a quiet knock at his door. "Enter." Saki responded.

It was Tatsu, bearing several cardboard cartons. Setting them down, Tatsu made a respectful bow, eyes lowered, as he never lowered them to anyone else. "Master Saki," he said, by way of formal greeting.

Saki bowed his own head in turn. "Tatsu," he replied, eyeing the boxes with a shiver of anticipation that was unexpected, for he knew already what was in them. He walked over to the pile, and picked up one of the smaller cartons, lifting the lid to draw out the custom tailored garment within. Dropping the box, he carefully shook the folds out of the fabric, revealing in its crisp newness what he had come to regard as his uniform. This one was silver-gray, and it fit with a simplicity and elegance of line that appealed to his vanity just as all the others that had gone before it had. There were several identical outfits in a variety of colors. The red ones he reserved for ceremony or battle. Tatsu had already laid aside the others, as well as the long, formal cape that he likewise reserved for ceremony alone. The shorter, black cape was folded neatly atop one of the larger cartons where Tatsu was standing patiently, waiting to assist him with the new armour.

It was the armour that had saved him, in the aftermath of that last battle. The armour and the refuse that had compacted with sufficient give in the back of that garbage truck, leaving him with minor internal injuries, a few serious cuts and abrasions and one shattered thigh bone that had given out close to the hip. That damage had meant surgery, and plates and pins, for the bone had not been salvageable. It had meant many painful months, two subsequent operations and the engagement of one rather charming physiotherapist to effect a nearly complete recovery.

He took a moment to examine the new pieces, armour fabricated this time from a phenomenally strong and exotic titanium-steel alloy rather than the high grade stainless of its predecessor. The former had proven its worth, and he had damned the expense and gone for the very best in its replacement. There was just a hint of gold reflected in the gleaming silver of the blades adorning the armour. He ran a fingertip carefully across one wicked spine, marvelling at the workmanship and the finely crafted joints and seams. He admired the art that had gone into its construction.

He began with the shin plates and forearm gauntlets, then allowed Tatsu to fit and adjust the shoulder harness and bladed guards. The cape attached to heavy dome snaps tailored into the tunic of the bodysuit, easy to rip off and discard if battle should come suddenly. He reached next for the hand pieces...his primary weapons in any otherwise unarmed combat, fitting first the wristband and half glove of the shorter-bladed right hand. The leather was supple and close-fit. Comfortable. The left-hand gauntlet also molded well to his palm, and he raised it, watching with a suffusion of raw power as the light glinted lethally off the long, twin blades now fixed securely to the back of his hand. He slashed them experimentally downwards, testing the weight and heft of them. Perfectly balanced. Again, exquisite workmanship. He liked the double blades. A backhanded slash could slit a throat. An upward thrust could slip under a ribcage to impale the heart. A lateral punch could disembowel...

Saki turned slowly towards the mirrored wall behind him as Tatsu opened the final carton. He breathed deeply, letting the feeling of power course through his veins unchecked as Tatsu fitted the faceplate to the helmet, another change now, involving a latch and a hinge, and then placed it with reverence upon his head. Saki lifted a hand, stopping the motion as Tatsu reached to close the grill...

Tatsu nodded deferentially, and stepped back, waiting.

Saki studied his figure in the mirror, giving in for just a moment to the vainglorious delight of watching the image move with feline grace toward itself. He executed a quick series of chopping kicks and punches that took him back towards Tatsu in a blinding flurry of motion, stopping mere inches from Tatsu with the gauntlet blades poised under the other's chin. He dropped them, straightened and stepped back, pleased that Tatsu had held his ground and not moved perceptibly from the position he'd adopted before the mock attack.

"The Shredder arises once again," Tatsu announced quietly.

"No," he said, in the same quiet tone, turning back and pacing toward the mirror again, watching the reflection as Tatsu's eyes widened slightly at the negative response. He met his own eyes in the mirror and held them for a long minute, while Tatsu moved to come and stand at his shoulder.

"No," he repeated. "Not _the_ Shredder." He paused thoughtfully. "Just...Shredder. I take it now as a name, not a title." His gaze shifted to catch Tatsu's. He saw approval, and a tiny nod of acceptance. Saki closed his eyes, drawing breath deeply again. Tatsu snapped the faceplate closed. He expelled the air slowly.

He felt...reborn.

He opened his eyes again, the same almond shape and liquid brown, but Oroku Saki's scarred visage was gone. "Tatsu," he said.

"Master Shredder," Tatsu answered.

"We have enemies, Tatsu." The statement was heavy with intent.

Tatsu bowed, deeply this time, but his face broke into a wide smile. "Yes, Master Shredder," he replied. "Yes."

~o~


	4. True Forces - Chapter 2

**True Forces Chapter Two**

They found out the hard way that Shredder was back in business.

"Are we gonna have to carry all this stuff back with us?" Raphael was complaining as he slogged along the tunnel after his brothers. "Long way, Don - maybe we could give Casey a call." He put emphasis on the suggestion.

The Turtles were on their way back to their old den. Donatello wanted to pick up a few of the oddments that they'd had to leave behind, waiting for another time to be collected because their removal had entailed a certain amount of effort and disassembly. It had been a while, months in fact, since they'd been back. The first time had been early spring, just a nostalgic peek, because they'd been in the area.

Raphael knew what it was that Don was after. They had just spent half the night combing though their favorite junk yard looking for a few, and hadn't found any. Throw-away radiators in working condition were hard to come by these days. They had been keeping their eyes out for a few since the cold had broken, scouting out demolition sites and garbage dumps in whatever neighbourhoods they'd been working. It was early June, and while that meant they were just coming into the heat of summer, Donatello was already planning ahead for next winter. Raph didn't mind. None of them did. They were all determined that the new den would be snug and warm this coming cold season. In spite of all their efforts last winter, Splinter had suffered with the aching cold and damp of the sewers. The new den had plenty of access to steam and getting heat wasn't the problem. Getting _dry_ heat was. But Donatello had been thinking about it, and had been scavenging pipes and plumbing and had a plan drawn up to provide that dry heat. What Don needed now were some radiators that weren't all rusted and leaking. They had proven tough to locate.

But they knew where to get some...

The old den had several, which they had maintained in good condition for the very same reasons that they were looking for some now. Four of them, to be exact, and along with those, about eighty feet of speaker cable that Don also wanted, so he could hook up the most recent additions to their sound system. Donatello was determined to have quadra-phonics in place before winter too.

The cable Raph could handle. It wasn't heavy and he was willing to carry it anywhere Don wanted him to, having, he reasoned, a certain amount of self-interest in the sound system. But the thought of lugging a vintage cast-iron radiator all the way back home didn't impress him a great deal. It was going to take time and energy, and they could save a lot of both if they just asked Casey to come and meet them with the truck.

"We can't be asking Casey or April every time we think we need a lift, Raph. You're just getting spoiled." Leonardo commented.

"And lazy." Donatello added.

"And - " Michelangelo began, but Raphael cut him off before he got out whatever good-natured insult was there on his tongue.

"And also, the one with the pizza money, so you'd all better just mind your manners or I'll be taking in a few movies instead," he threatened in response.

"And - " Mike went on, with his own self-interest at heart, " - the one with the best ideas. The phone still works there doesn't it? We can call from - "

"Casey's working tonight anyway," Leo interrupted. "I already called."

Raph and Don and Mike all looked at one another. "Oh." They groaned their disappointment in unison and resigned themselves to the task of radiator hauling.

"Spoiled and lazy, huh?" Raphael repeated in mock belligerence, once the groaning had passed. "Spoiled and lazy?"

"Yeah, and slow too - " Leonardo goaded him with a grin that Raph didn't miss, even though Leo tried to keep his nose averted. Raphael knew what they were doing. Raph-Baiting was a spontaneous game his brothers had invented years ago. He was in the mood to play it with them tonight.

Raphael growled low, as if he was actually as angry as such an insult might have made him as little as a year ago. "I'll show you slow - " And he then launched himself into the whooping chase and mock combat that ensued and endured for the next five blocks, until they were all out of breath.

They had reached their old stomping grounds, knew the neighbourhood with an undiminished familiarity and Leo hushed them all with an order that went through the horseplay.

Their enemies knew their old address...the whooping and noise quickly gave way to quiet.

As they approached within a few blocks Leonardo slowed, warning his brothers to exercise caution.

"Shredhead's just bound to have the place bugged or something - probably he's got someone wasting time waiting for us to show up," he muttered.

"Won't be a waste," Michelangelo pointed out brightly, "Since we're about to." He stretched in mild anticipation. "If there is someone there."

"Need the exercise," Raphael added, not counting all the previous rough-housing in the same category. He pulled both sai from his waistband. "Hope he sent someone worth the bother."

"Second that!" Mike agreed. "These run-of-the-mill street punks haven't been much of a challenge since we stepped on The Foot. Could use a class adversary for a change."

"Should've brought my skateboard..." Donatello mused wistfully, recalling the Foot warriors he'd surprised last fall outside their den. "Let's meditate guys! Scope 'em out with ESP!" Don bugged his eyes out playfully. He was in an extremely good mood. They all were.

Leo shut his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. "Can it, Don! We _don't_ do ESP!" he snapped, a little annoyed by the too-nonchalant attitude that seemed to be prevailing. Raph knew Leo had been worried about Shredder ever since April had reported that he'd not only survived the fall off the rooftop, but had disappeared mysteriously from the hospital he and his injured warriors had been admitted to after the rooftop battle. And while it was true that there'd been no hint of trouble from him, none of them doubted that when Shredder was ready, Shredder would come looking for them. "Splinter wants us to perfect this stuff you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Don responded, and Raph could see him thinking that no matter what Leo wanted to call it, their ninja mind-skills certainly struck Don as ESP or the next closest thing to it that Don could imagine. "I know. Canning up." Donatello shut his mouth with a deliberate snap and drew his bo as he did so.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes and regarded each of them in turn, assuring himself that they were all done kidding around. Leo loved a good time as much as the next Turtle, but there were times, and Raph knew this was one of them, that he wished his brothers could be serious for more than two minutes at a time. Leo nodded once to himself.

"Okay. Let's relax and concentrate." His katana whispered almost inaudibly from their sheathes as Leo drew them.

"Armed and enabled," Mike murmured quietly, nunchukus in hand. "Let's go."

They were improving all the time, learning how to slip more easily into the mental disciplines that Splinter had taught them. More and more it was like the running of a well-oiled machine, individual and disparate cogs and wheels meshing, performing at a level the pieces could never achieve alone. It was something Raph had to work at, and had worked at until he'd gotten to the point that he could keep his more erratic impulses at bay and relax enough to focus his thoughts.

When it came to the mind-skills, he was probably their weakest link, and he worked to overcome that. He had improved, and the good mood helped. His awareness extended, sharpened. He found his brothers. They became attuned to one another, hair-trigger alert.

As a single entity, they moved silently through the sewers, ready for any adversary.

They reached the old den without incident. Nothing other than the scuffling of ordinary sewer dwellers had touched their senses.

"No one," Raphael said, almost with disgust. "Guess they figure we're not comin' back"

"Suppose so," Leonardo commented, dropping his ready stance and returning his swords to their place at his back with an automatic, easy grace. Leo surveyed the wooden ruin of what had once been their front door, now sadly aslant on its hinges. He seemed to be reflecting that the place didn't feel like home anymore. Raph didn't think it did, anyway. "So, Don - just what is it we're going to rip out first tonigh - "

Leonardo never finished the question.

Leo had given the door a quick kick inwards with one foot, casually disregarding its state of repair, and there had been a low noise. A rush of air, that was all, and Leo had exploded backward under the impact of the preset weapon whose trip line he'd disturbed.

They had been prepared and looking for a living enemy. The booby trap that their enemies had left behind had possessed no hostile sentient intent that they might have detected.

Raph had not been concentrating hard at it anymore, and neither had his brothers, but they were still in a state of heightened mental awareness, and they all felt the echo of the strike from Leo...a blinding white agony, followed by a crawling cold that could only be shock...through it all there was an utter and terrible sense of astonishment from Leonardo so overwhelming that for a few seconds none of them moved. The mental bond tore into tatters, pulled asunder as Leo went down.

 _"Leo!"_ Raphael was the first to react, cursing once and loudly as he dropped his sai, reaching for their stricken brother as Leo staggered backward to hit the sewer wall opposite the door and slide gutterward. Leo let out one sustained groan, looking as if he wanted to say something. But his eyes rolled back, until only the whites were showing, and then he went limp.

"Don! Don - check the den - see what we're up against! Mike, over here, we need some more light - damn! _Damn_ \- it's _bad_ Mikie!" His voice rose as he managed to get a better glimpse at what had taken Leo down. It wasn't panic, not yet. Raphael fought himself for control, fought not to give in to the outrage or the horror, but to deal with it, calmly, wits collected, the way that Leonardo himself would have.

But that wasn't easy.

They had all been hurt at one time or another - scrapes, bruises, a chipped shell on occasion. They all had scars on the soles of their feet, from numerous encounters with broken glass. Donatello had even fractured an arm once, years ago. Life in the sewers had its hazards, after all.

None of it compared to this.

"What is it?" Mike hissed, helping him ease Leo over to the stone ledge that had served as their one time front porch. "Damn - Raph, he's bleeding all over the place!" Michelangelo's voice faltered as he caught breath. _"What do we do!?"_

"Think!" Raphael retorted, more sharply than he'd meant to, his mind racing, trying to pull information he wasn't even sure he possessed out of scattered memory.

It was an ugly wound. The shaft of a short spear, no, no, he corrected himself, a _harpoon_ , was protruding from the lower left plate of Leo's plastron, just below the leather of his waistband. The plate itself was shattered radially from the point of entry. At least three deep cracks were bleeding freely, and a bright red ooze leaked from a half dozen of the smaller striations. Raphael eased one hand under Leo to his carapace, more deeply horrified when his fingers met the thick stickiness there too. More blood, and the wicked point of the weapon protruding a good inch out of Leo's shell.

 _Damn!_ he cursed again. "Dammit! It's right _through_ Mike! Right through!"

Michelangelo blinked at him, visibly shrinking from that thought. "Pull it out?" he wondered in a weak voice.

 _"No!"_ Donatello was standing in the doorway. "Don't. _Don't_ pull it out." In one hand he carried another harpoon. "You'll kill him if you do," he added, holding the thing up.

The point of the thing was wicked enough. Beyond the point, the tip flattened slightly, making a narrow but two-edged blade, one side sharply barbed, the other a series of razor serrations. There was something tied on the blunt end of the shaft...an ornate red headband, with an embroidered Japanese glyph adorning it. It was the symbol of The Foot. Of Shredder. But they had all figured that part out already.

"This'll do more damage coming out than it did going in." Donatello said quietly, his voice a low contradiction of the anxiety behind his eyes. "What do we _do,_ Raph?"

Raphael looked down at Leo, swallowing hard, once.

"Does the phone still work here?" he asked, his fingers seeking the pulse at Leo's throat.

"It will," was Don's reply.

Raphael let out pent breath. "Call April," he said.

~o~

April O'Neil was home when the call reached her. She had just gotten in, after a disastrous date that she was wishing she hadn't bothered to have agreed to, and she was in a foul mood. The call had caught her soaking in a hot bath, easing the bad mood away and it served to obliterate the evening's fiasco as Donatello had spilled out the reason for the late night disruption.

By the time she'd thrown her clothes on and rushed headlong to the parking garage with her hair still dripping, a plan to cope with the emergency was already half-formulated in her mind. She gunned the new/old van to life, adding contingencies and embellishments all the way, polishing the plan, pushing the speed limit to eke out another few miles per hour of speed. When she finally backed the van into the alley where the Turtles were waiting, her strategy was all laid out, depending on just how badly Leonardo was actually hurt.

She was still hoping that perhaps the other three had exaggerated the extent of the injury, but those hopes were faint - Donatello had sounded on the edge of panic, and coming from Donatello, who was as calm and placid a Turtle as ever there was, that degree of alarm was enough to set her own nerves jangling.

There was shadowy motion in her rear-view mirror at ground level. It wasn't at the manhole cover, but at the alley grate, the twin of the infamous One Twenty-Two and An Eighth out front, to which unnumbered pizzas had eventually found their way. The grating in the alley the Turtles had modified, Leo had confided to her once, so that they could move furniture in and out without having to dismantle it first. Her hopes withered further - if Leo couldn't be lifted, carried or move under his own steam out the manhole, things _were_ serious. She cut the engine and threw open the driver's door, stopping behind the van just long enough to pull the double doors wide for the Turtles.

The other three were hauling Leo up through the un-grated access in a makeshift sling. _Lord, he's out cold_ , she thought with a growing alarm, watching the careful manner with which the others were handling the sling and the stilled form in it. They _weren't_ exaggerating...

Raphael and Donatello moved quickly to get Leo into the back of the van. Mike hurriedly pushed the grating back into place and gave it a kick to ensure it wouldn't fall in under some unsuspecting pedestrian before he ran to join them.

April reached up and flicked on the dome light in the cargo space as Mike closed the doors. She blinked in mute horror at the sight that greeted her. It hadn't been exaggeration, it had been _understatement._

 _"God in heaven!"_ she breathed almost inaudibly. "You didn't say it was this bad!"

"Didn't want you to worry," Raphael said, no humour in the tone at all. "April," his voice finally cracked with anguish. "April, what do we _do?!"_

She looked from one Turtle to the next, her eyes going full circle around the van's interior. Every one of them wore the same desperate look - they knew that this was serious far, far beyond even Splinter's ability to heal, and he'd been taking care of Turtles for a long, long time.

April looked down at Leonardo briefly, then moved smartly up forward into the driver's seat. She gunned the van to life with a vengeance, putting her plan into gear as well.

"We're going to the zoo," she said.

~o~

The trap had been sprung.

Shredder nodded curtly to the messenger that had appeared at the door to his quarters, dismissing the youth with only the barest of courtesies, his annoyance at the disturbance giving way quickly to an elation that intensified as he considered the implications. He had found the Turtles.

Or rather, they had found his little surprise waiting for them.

Shredder stretched with satisfaction, then cautioned himself to patience...that the harpoon gun had been triggered didn't necessarily mean that the Turtles had tripped it - there were plenty of other more typical sewer denizens that could have done so, but he didn't think it likely. The trap had been set for weeks in that abandoned maintenance room, and nothing had disturbed it thus far.

Until now.

Tatsu knew what to do. A few hand-picked Foot warriors would investigate and report back. They would step-up their surveillance on Miss O'Neil, try to track her whereabouts. It had been a long shot, placing the trap in the Turtles' former hole, for he had doubted they would ever go back, knowing that it was the one place that The Foot knew where to look for them. He regretted now that he hadn't ordered a more elaborate surveillance system installed at the same time. A video of the incident would, no doubt, have been a treasure. He wondered whatever there might have been there to have attracted the Turtles back...the place had been quite substandard and the flotsam that they had left behind had been just that to his mind - a lot of useless junk.

Sentiment, perhaps? He couldn't quite visualize that, but then again, he hadn't been able to visualize mutant rats and turtles so very long ago either.

He was wondering precisely what April O'Neil was doing right about now. He was tempted to call her apartment, just to see if she was there. He doubted it, seriously, and he did not want to disappoint himself if she did happen to be home rather than out comforting her beloved mutants. He wondered whether or not the harpoon had killed one of them. And which one. Or perhaps that one had been lucky, and had only sustained a mortal wound.

Either way they would suffer...it was Shredder's intention to cause them as much anxiety, grief and general bother as he could manage. To _worry_ them. He could easily do that, just by leaving a message on Miss O'Neil's answering machine. She'd been getting off easy. He had left her alone, all these many months. He did not think that she had been lulled into a false sense of security, however. She was both intelligent and a survivor. He would turn the heat up now, that was all. Flush out her bodyguard/boyfriend and let Tatsu off the leash. Shredder smiled.

Things seemed to be shaping up nicely.

~o~

April had done a favor for a junior member of the Channel Three news team just seven weeks earlier. It had been a soft news piece, involving the construction, dedication and grand opening of one of the new buildings at the zoo. April had accompanied the young man to the zoo, helped with a number of interviews and spent hours editing the footage with the neophyte to put together a twenty minute special report that had aired two weeks later.

She hadn't begrudged the effort...she remembered what it was like to be at the bottom of the ladder and had just considered it a matter of paying one's dues.

Now she was counting the blessings that the work had bestowed. She knew exactly where she was going and who she needed to see. One of the lengthier interviews that they had conducted had been with the zoo's Head of Veterinary Surgery, one Doctor Melissa Marshall, and her number had been among the dozens she had jotted down while helping the neophyte to lay his groundwork. April never threw anything away.

She had Donatello dialing the woman's number on the mobile phone in the front of her van as they drove through the city, now at its quietest, the hour being what it was. He handed it to her as the phone on the other end began to ring.

"She's just gotta be there," April commented, having already explained to the Turtles what she was doing. "It is the weekend and it is the wee hours. I - Hello? I'd like to speak to Doctor Marshall please, it's a medical emergency." No exaggeration there. The phone had been answered by someone April assumed to be the woman's husband, an older voice sounding gruff and sleepy on the other end. She kept her voice firm and professional, determined not to take 'no' for an answer, and to put all her reporter-wise persuasiveness to the maximum. "She's not there? Can you tell me where she can be reached?" April motioned to Don to get ready with the pen and paper she'd already given him. She listened intently to the voice on the other end, nodding impatiently as the man plied her for further information as to the nature of the emergency before he would give her the number where his wife could be contacted. She repeated it carefully for Don to copy, and thanked the man profusely before cutting him off.

"We're in luck," she told the Turtles optimistically, "She's already at the zoo, supervising delivery of some new specimens or something." She passed the phone back to Donatello. "Dial it. We'll probably have to go through switchboard or security, more likely, to track her down. Pray she didn't tell them to hold any calls. How's Leo doing back there?"

"Still with us." Raphael responded unhappily. "Still bleeding. I don't like it April. It hasn't stopped. I'm not even sure it's slowed."

She didn't like the sound of that either. She had no idea what the Turtles looked like on the inside, or just what damage the harpoon might have done. Even if she had known turtle anatomy, these particular Turtles were humanoid mutant ones, and variation from the norm was likely to be considerable. April didn't even know if the expert they were about to consult would be able to help them or not.

But it was their only hope right now. No one else _could_ help them, and the only other alternative was to let Leo bleed to death. It wasn't an option any of them were prepared to exercise. They were all willing to risk putting themselves into hazardous circumstances to follow the hope up.

Donatello handed her the phone back. It only took a minute to beat her way through security, the medical emergency taking that barrier down neatly. It took a few moments longer for Doctor Marshall to drop whatever she had been doing and find a nearby phone.

April punched the hands-free function, let the Turtles listen in.

"Doctor Marshall," came the tinny response to the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, Doctor Marshall? This is April O'Neil, Channel Three News. We met a few weeks ago."

"Yes, I remember." There was a brief pause, as if the woman was trying to figure out why she'd be calling back at this odd hour of the day. "I saw the special. It was quite good, management was really pleased by it. We've had response from the public. I'm told that some substantial donations have come in to help defray some of our expenditures."

 _Ah, good,_ April thought. _She owes me!_

"I'm pleased to hear that. Doctor Marshall, I'm afraid I have a problem that you can help me with."

"They said something about an emergency, when Security paged me. What can I do for you, Miss O'Neil?"

"I have some friends, good friends, with a seriously injured turtle. I'd - I mean, we'd really appreciate it if you could have a look at it. We're already on our way in, we should be there in about fifteen minutes. If you could possibly - "

"A turtle? At this hour? What sort of turtle?"

"It's - it's a really...rare specimen, I'm not too sure of the exact variety myself. But it's been stabbed and - "

"Stabbed?"

"Please, Doctor Marshall, it'll be much easier to explain when we get there. Where can we meet you?" April forged ahead, didn't give the woman the opportunity to say no, simply assumed she would agree to see them.

It seemed to work. "Um...okay, Miss O'Neil. You recall how to get to the Veterinary Building? Through the main service entrance - "

"Yes, yes, I can get there. There's a security gate?"

"There is, but I'll tell them to expect you shortly. We don't see too many turtles, but I'll have a look and see if we can do anything for it. Can always put it down for you, if nothing else."

Raphael hissed an obscenity behind her. April winced, but she knew that the comment had been well-intentioned and she hissed back for Raph to shut up. "Thank you, Doctor. _Thank you_." She couldn't keep the relief out of her voice. "We'll be there just as quick as we can."

"Look for me out front of the building, Miss O'Neil. I'll be waiting."

"Right. Thanks." April disconnected, hardly believing it had been that easy. "She didn't mean it Raph. She doesn't know yet. She was only trying to be helpful."

"Sorry. But she said - "

"I _know_ what she said. She thinks we're talking about a pet."

"Leo's not a pet!"

"Raph, can it." Donatello interrupted. "Keep driving April. She did say there was a security gate didn't she?"

April nodded, and Don climbed out of the passenger seat and into the rear cargo space. It would hardly do to have him sitting in the front of the van when they got there. Donatello, at least, was still thinking clearly. Raphael was more upset than he realized he was. He was functioning on reflex, just like Michelangelo. She hadn't heard a single word out of Mike. That wasn't at all normal.

"Yeah. There's this little guardhouse with a guy in it. I've been there. You guys just keep out of sight. I'll do the talking. Dress up, Raph. I told her that 'we' were coming. They might be looking for more than one of us. Keep down until they ask though."

Don gave her an affirmative reply. She heard them all shuffling around the back, let them organize themselves and concentrated on her driving instead. The traffic lights had been green nearly all the way.

They would be there soon.

"What are you going to tell her, April?" Don asked.

"Don't know yet, Don. We'll play it by ear. I think just one look at Leo's gonna be pretty much self-explanatory."

Silence. "Yeah. I guess." It was subdued. No choices, they all knew it.

"Hang on to him guys. We're gonna make this work." At least, April O'Neil sincerely hoped so...

~o~

Allan Marshall hung up the phone when the line went dead abruptly. The woman that had called had been quite impatient and in a hurry to get him off her end of the call.

Well, she _did_ say it was an emergency...

He crawled back into bed, knowing that his wife wasn't really going to appreciate the call that was probably ringing through to her right now. Mel was busy tonight. The boat had come in late, delayed at sea by a storm off the coast of Africa; and the shipment of crocodiles had just arrived in port late yesterday. Then there had been Customs to clear and transport to arrange, all of which had taken time. And when the reptiles had finally arrived, they'd been in something that was less-than-optimum condition.

Mel had called a couple of hours back, to say that she wouldn't be home 'til morning. The crocs were sick. They had a fungal infection and she suspected intestinal parasites too. The sea voyage hadn't helped. They would be going into quarantine, in the old building, which itself was not ready for them, and they would have to be settled.

He knew how busy Mel was going to be...he was himself a Professor of Herpetology and he knew a few things about reptiles...they were his specialty, his life's work. He sometimes did consulting work for the zoo. The three African crocodiles that had just come in were going to be hard to handle because she would not want to tranquilize them knowing they were already sick. She wasn't going to have time for a medical emergency. But then again, she might want the break. And she had a soft spot for any sick or injured animal. Mel might just take the time out for the rare turtle the woman on the phone had mentioned.

 _What kind of rare turtle?_ he wondered.

New York was full of people who collected exotic animals. He knew a number of them personally. That someone had a rare specimen of turtle didn't really surprise him. But he was thinking about it now and he speculated just what might have happened to it. Turtles, generally speaking, weren't very easy to hurt. In rural areas they got themselves run over on a regular basis, but here in the city that was all but unheard of, and a specimen in a private collection wasn't very likely to be out on the street in the middle of the night.

He couldn't go back to sleep, thinking about it, and that annoyed him, because he'd been up half the night anyway, wondering where Devon had gotten to again. He checked the clock. Pushing two...it was possible that Devon had come in by now, possible that he'd slept through the noise or the lack thereof...Devon could be sneaky-quiet when he wanted to be. Allan hauled himself out of bed, and went to check, padding softly down the hallway toward the boys' rooms.

Trevor's door was open slightly and he peered in to find the younger of his twin sons sprawled and sleeping just where he should be. Trevor's room was in its typical state. Clothes and juggling pins were scattered randomly over the floor and the furniture. He was surprised to see the pins out...there had been a time when the twins had both begged and itched to learn the clever tricks and sleight-of-hand skills that had so fascinated them as youngsters. He was quick of hand himself - dealing with all those lightning-quick snakes and lizards had something to do with it - and he'd given them what knowledge he possessed of card and coin tricks years ago. They had followed it up themselves, learning to juggle and to palm small objects, much to their little sister's amusement. The interest had diminished considerably since the divorce. He let out a long sigh. Why Devon couldn't be more like his brother was beyond him. They were identical twins, hard sometimes even for him to tell apart, because the two of them delighted in the physical sameness. They had wardrobes for the most part that matched, hairstyles that matched and they could very well imitate one another's personalities when they made the effort.

That wasn't often, nowadays. Trevor was losing patience with his brother just as fast as everyone else in the family, and Trevor had patience galore, when it came to his twin.

Devon had gone delinquent, and he was very much at a loss for a means to deal with it effectively...his sons had always been good kids, good in school, good in their choice of friends, well behaved and well mannered. Their grades were good, always had been. Still were, in spite of the fact that Devon was skipping school almost as much as he was attending it. It was hard to complain, when he was still functioning academically on half classes. It was an argument that Devon had thrown back at him, last time that he'd stayed home long enough to argue. Now that school was out for the summer, he hardly even knew where to begin looking for him.

Allan didn't know whom it was that his elder son was hanging around with these days, and that bothered him. He hadn't been able to pry it out of Trevor either. Trevor was not yet disaffected enough with his brother to rat out on him. It was something that Allan chose to take as a positive sign - Devon couldn't be in that much trouble if Trevor was willing to cover for him.

He was hoping it would all resolve itself, as soon as the summer was over, and Megan moved out of the house.

Thoughts of his stepdaughter left him scowling. He didn't like the girl and would be glad when she took herself off to residence at university. She was considering an out-of-state campus, well out of the state and half a continent away, in fact, if Mel couldn't talk her out of her current preference, and that suited him just fine.

He carried on down the hall to Devon's room. He found it empty, the bed un-slept in. _Good God, he's still out!_

He told himself not to worry. The kid was nineteen and able to take care of himself in most situations. Maybe more situations than he wanted to know about.

He rubbed at his eyes. He knew that he was not going to go back to sleep. Maybe he would just drive down to the zoo and have a look at Mel's crocs. He felt like he needed the distraction.

And he could have a look in on the turtle too. If it really was a rare specimen, and if it turned out that Mel couldn't do anything for it - which was likely because turtles were hard to fix - perhaps he could add it to the display on campus. Reptiles pickled pretty well in formaldehyde...

Allan Marshall padded quietly back to his own room and slipped into his clothes. He scrawled a quick note to Trevor, letting the more responsible of his sons know of his intended whereabouts.

His curiosity was piqued. He wondered all the way to the zoo, just what kind of a turtle was going to be there...

~o~

Melissa Marshall had not been particularly annoyed by the interruption. It took her away from the current unpleasantness and gave her something else to think about. She had been trying to help the handlers with the crocodiles after her initial examination and was getting tired of the wrestling. There was only one that was quiet and lethargic...that one had her concern. The other two were feisty enough to be difficult so they weren't that sick. But the big one worried her.

 _Let it settle,_ she told herself. _Travel upsets them. Settle it and feed it up, see if it improves after all the dust clears..._

That was usually all it took.

If only the building wasn't such a disorganized mess. The renovations weren't even finished and that was something that was going to keep the crocs on edge because the construction was on the far wall of the gallery, just about overlooking the tank they were going into.

Cost cutting. Budget. She had been all for the idea of re-vamping the antiquated Marine Life facility over to additional Veterinary/Quarantine Services, but the place wasn't ready yet, and neither was her staff. She sighed, and shrugged it off. No helping it. They would just shut up and cope with it and be grateful they were getting the building at all. The building was old, but it served. All the equipment functioned, it had been maintained well enough. There had been a scramble, getting the tank up to snuff, replacing a number of the leaking glass panels with perspex before the water was refilled and reconditioned to temperature and salinity specification. The pool was just-in-time ready for its new residents - whether the new residents were ready for the pool was another matter though.

She glanced at her watch. She'd better get going. She had told Miss O'Neil to meet her over in Surgery. A hurt turtle? _Stabbed,_ she'd said. Funny time of the night for that. New York. _What a place. I must be habituating, if a stabbed turtle doesn't arouse my curiosity._ There wasn't much about New York that raised her eyebrows anymore, not like there had been when they'd first moved in. People stabbed people here all the time. Probably someone had decided to make turtle soup out of someone else's pride and joy. There were collectors around town. New York. It still amazed her, the pulse and buzz of the city. Never stopped. She found that irritating sometimes, and wished for the quiet of the smaller towns that had come and gone over the years. Meg, she knew, was sick of the city, and itching to leave.

Meg. Oh, now _this_ was an opportunity for Meg, this turtle coming in. Her daughter was leaning toward the veterinary sciences at the moment, was considering seriously Veterinary College for the fall, albeit a distant one. She had always encouraged her daughter to slant her career aspirations that direction - Meg had both the talent and the inclination for it - and she should have been glad that Megan was finally going to settle on _something_. For awhile Meg had been hip deep into biochemistry, pharmacology and molecular biophysics. She was fascinated by the complexities. That was the problem with Meg...too many things fascinated her, she had trouble deciding what she wanted to do because she wanted to do it all. Melissa didn't have any bones to pick with that either. In some ways she might have preferred Meg to stick with some of it - she could stay here in town, go to one of the local universities, and she wouldn't have to move off into residence someplace in the Midwest.

Meg seemed to want to move out. But that wasn't a reason for her to go into Veterinary College though. She wanted to be certain that Meg's interest in the field was real, rather than opportunistically motivated.

Yeah...let her have a look at the turtle. See the reactions.

It was not something she could do, not with specimens belonging to the zoo and for which she was ultimately responsible. But this was a favor she was doing, no obligation. Meg was on staff tonight, it wouldn't hurt to pull her off duty for a bit.

It wouldn't do much for her popularity though. That was another concern for Melissa. Megan did not intermix very well socially. Kid was too smart, and those around her always seemed to know it and react. It wasn't even that Meg went around rubbing people's noses in it. It seemed that she was just a little too competent for some of her peers. Meg was only eighteen, and almost a vet already, according to some. It was not true, strictly speaking. Megan _was_ a qualified Animal Care Technologist. She had taken night and summer courses for that certificate, but everything else she had picked up had come from herself and her father. The kid had practically been raised in and around zoos, and her father had been a collector himself...

That had changed, when she'd married again. Megan missed her animals. God help whatever residence she moves into. She'll fill it... Melissa could not help smiling. Most of Meg's social difficulties stemmed from the fact that she related better to other species than she did to her own kind. Her father had been like that too. My fault. Should've had a couple more kids to keep her company, that's all. But there had never seemed enough time, or rather that there had seemed all the time in the world. Jim had had the soul of a gypsy...they had moved around a lot with their work out in the field...a wildlife zoologist, his wife the veterinary surgeon, and their baby girl.

Those had been good years, back then, her and Jim and little Meg with their own personal travelling three-ring circus...

But she still wondered sometimes if they had short-changed their daughter on a few things. There had never been a time that their roots had gone down. There had been a large number of schools, and too many friends left behind. Megan didn't look for friends anymore. She had lost them too often.

She shook herself again. _Gotta a get going_. Melissa Marshall reached for the phone, punched in the proper extension and paged her daughter. She had the authority to interrupt, no one would cross her on that.

 _A turtle_ , she thought again. _Don't see very many turtles, the experience'll do her some good._..

When Megan answered the page, Melissa told her just exactly where to be if she was interested in having a look.

~o~

Doctor Marshall had told the man at the security kiosk to expect them. Raphael had ducked down with all his brothers there in the back of April's van as she had spoken with the guard and then been motioned through the gate. He reached for the battered felt hat and the trench coat that April kept in the van for them, those and a pair of oversized rubber galoshes that were the only footwear she'd ever found large enough to fit any of them.

He was a nervous wreck, sick with worry for Leonardo and not in any way prepared to meet, greet and talk sensibly with strangers. This was _not_ going to be like running into Casey in the park had been. _Let April do it_...he told himself. _She knows what she's doing._ He tried hard to keep the coat from dragging through the puddle of blood under Leo, and clambered up into the passenger seat that Don had vacated before they'd reached the zoo and the security gate. He didn't know how many people they were going to encounter before the night was through.

More than he wanted to, that much was for certain.

 _Leo...oh Leo, why won't the bleeding stop? They've gotta be able to help,_ he thought desperately. _Someone here must know what to do -_

"Who is this person anyway, April?" he asked her, peering through the front window. "Is she - "

"She's a vet, Raph. A Doctor. We need one."

"I know that, but - "

"Calm _down_ , Raph. She's really nice. I liked her. She was - there she is right now. Take it easy, okay? I'll talk to her."

April pulled the van up in front of the building that she'd been directed to.

There was a dark-haired, middle-aged woman waiting for them. She was wearing a T-shirt, a pair of baggy denim overalls and a loosely fitted lab coat. Raphael didn't think she looked very much like a Doctor at all.

April got out of the van and shook the woman's hand as Raph opened his own door and moved smartly around the front end of the parked vehicle. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the coat. _Stupid_ , _she's gonna see us all in a second or two anyway_. But it was habit, and he was too upset to break with habit right now.

"Thank you ever so much for seeing us, Doctor Marshall," April was saying. "This really is a serious problem."

"Valuable specimen?" the woman inquired. "I know there are some spectacular private collections around town...is this the owner?" Her gaze had come around to Raphael as he'd approached, her hand coming up for another handshake and hesitating at the sight he presented.

Raphael knew that he didn't look like a wealthy animal collector - he looked more like a wino.

"Uh...not exactly," April rescued him. "This is all a little unusual, it's going to take a bit of explaining - "

Melissa Marshall's hand went down. "You mentioned that this was a rare specimen, Miss O'Neil. Just what kind of a turtle are we talking about here?" There was a note in the woman's voice that said she was beginning to suspect a prank. April had sounded a bit too apologetic, and he looked a bit too -

Raphael reached up and tore the hat off his head. _"My kind!"_ he said suddenly, because Leo didn't have enough blood to waste.

The Doctor took an astonished step back. April grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around to the rear of the van while she was still too surprised to object. The woman's eyes had not left Raphael. _"What the hell is this!"_ she exclaimed. "If this is some sort - "

"Please!" April begged. "Doctor Marshall, this is no hoax. These are...are friends of mine and they're real. Mutant turtles - I know how that must sound, but one of them is hurt badly and we really need your help. I can explain later but - " April pulled the back doors open to reveal the rest of them...

Raphael had followed April around to the rear, putting himself behind Melissa Marshall, in case she panicked and tried to run. Michelangelo reached up and turned on the dome light.

Donatello was sitting down, with Leo's head in his lap. Mike very slowly sank back down to join him there behind Leo.

There was dead silence.

The Doctor blinked, mouth agape, her eyes darting around the van's interior. She took a deep breath. Shook her head once in startlement and breathed deeply a second time.

"It's not a hoax," Donatello said quietly. "We need - "

"Alright. _Alright!_ No hoax, I can see that! Move over, let me have a look, this _is_ serious. How long ago did this happen?" Her voice had gone clinical and crisp.

"Seventy-four minutes," Don answered. He reached behind him, produced the spare harpoon, minus the headband. "This is what's inside."

She muttered a curse, taking a quick look at it, then sought the pulse at Leo's neck. "Bleeding all this time?"

"Yes."

She seemed to be thinking furiously.

Raphael watched her. He'd taken the time to pull the hat back over his head, was standing restlessly now as Doctor Marshall assessed the circumstances. He had closed the gap with the van when she'd jumped into the back, was now standing shoulder to shoulder with April. Then another voice spoke from behind him.

"Mom?" Nervous disbelief in the voice. A head shoved itself under Raphael's elbow. "What's going on Mom!?"

Raphael shifted in startlement himself. He hadn't heard or seen anyone coming. Now there was a girl under his arm, staring past him into the van with wide-eyed incredulity. _Mom? Must be the Doctor's kid. Must be okay for her to be here then_ \- he was still nervous about the exposure they were not going to be able to avoid.

"'Scuse me," the girl said, pushing under the elbow, only to stop suddenly when she saw him looking down at her from under the brim of the hat and realized that she was seeing another one of them. The girl backed away slowly, letting go of the sleeve. "Sorry," she squeaked uncertainly. "I..."

"Meg!" her mother snapped. "We have an emergency." She reached into one of the pockets of the overalls, withdrew a heavy key-ring and tossed it to her daughter as Raph moved back. "Here are the keys, get the back door open, get into OR Two and scrub up, it's already prepped. We'll be right behind you. All of us."

"OR Two," the girl repeated, as if she hadn't heard right. _"Mom - "_

"Right now, Meg! Answers later. Run!"

The girl gripped the keys tightly, and ran, throwing open the doors of the building they were parked in front of and disappearing from their view.

"Miss O'Neil, we need this van pulled around the back, to the first docking bay you see. Quickly please. Your...friend...is in deep trouble. Get these doors closed. We don't have time."

April nodded, and shut the doors. "Com'on Raph," she breathed with a certain amount of relief. "We're in."

Half the battle, Raph told himself, running, hopping back into the passenger seat. He didn't like how hurried the Doctor had sounded.

 _Leo. Oh, Leo what have I just committed us all to?_ They were in, alright.

He just wished he knew what for...

~o~

Melissa Marshall's heart was pounding. Mutant turtles, Miss O'Neil had said. _Mutant_ turtles. What was she supposed to make of that? She would worry about it later, right now -

 _Save it. It's hurt bad. Gotta save it. Whatever have I got here?!_

Right now she had to save the thing's life. The words, the intent kept repeating in an endless loop inside her head, wrapping around everything she could recall about terrapin anatomy. She wasn't certain it was going to be applicable.

It was no hoax. This mutant turtle was _bleeding_. It was still breathing, still had a pulse and a heartbeat. The others moved, shifting anxiously in the back of the van. Their eyes were fixed on her, whenever she chanced to look up in the short trip around the building, watching her with wide, hopeful, trusting eyes that were real and moist when they blinked.

 _Why are they wearing masks?_

It was no hoax. No costume could ever have been that detailed, that _real,_ and she had been working with animals for too many years not to be able to recognize a live creature when she saw one.

They had talked. _Talked!_

Talked _and_ made sense.

 _What the hell do I have here?_

Serious emergency, that was what she had. _Save it_ , the thought came again. Everything else was secondary at this particular point in time...

Somehow the thing had gotten itself knifed but good. And if whatever was inside the turtle looked anything like the weapon the other one had shown her, the damage was going to prove extensive. There was a lot of blood...severed hepatic and/or renal artery, maybe.

Intestinal damage for sure, just by the location. Liver. Spleen. Kidney on that side too - depending, _depending,_ on just what this turtle was built like.

They walked upright. Their limbs were by far more primate than they were terrapin. Its pelvic girdle just _had_ to be turned ninety degrees to the norm, and God alone knew what internal reorganization that dictated.

Get it into surgery, best guess, until she could open it up and have a look. It was going to take a bone saw, to get that damned knife out of the way before she could get a clamp on that leaking artery or arteries.

They had reached the rear dock. Miss O'Neil backed the van in and Melissa threw the doors open. "You two," she pointed at the two that had been with the injured one when first she'd seen it. "Stay with him. You - " her hand came around to point the same finger at the one in the coat as it appeared there at the back of the van. " - you, come with me."

It followed her into the building and past the open door of OR Two. The lights there were on. She didn't see Meg, but she was probably in the prep room, scrubbing up like she'd been told to. OR Two was the emergency room, it was always ready for something unexpected, and this situation qualified in spades...

She threw open a storage cupboard, pulled out a dolphin sling and told the turtle what she wanted done. It seemed intelligent enough, and it was quick. The sling went together fast. The turtle was green. It had a thumb and two opposing digits on each hand. It was wearing leather wrist bands. She filed details. _God help me, what on earth am I doing!?_

The supports were in the sling. "That's got it - let's go." She thought to ask its name, if it had one. Time for all that stuff later. Time was something they didn't have an awful lot of. She would get the whole story, _all_ of it, later. She concentrated on the business at hand, shouted a few orders through the open door at Meg as they passed it again.

It only took a minute to get the injured turtle into the sling and one more after that to get it into OR. Melissa shoved one of the spare tables nearer to the central operating one, and had the sling suspended between the two. The point of the spear or knife or whatever it was, was positioned through one of the holes that normally would have housed a dolphin's flipper. A puddle of blood was starting to collect under the sling already.

Probably there was a trail of it, all the way in from the dock...clean it up later, it was Sunday morning, there wasn't going to be anyone in to see it. They never scheduled surgery on weekends if it could be helped, and the maintenance staff went through the building on Saturday. It wasn't very likely that anyone would walk in on this -

She ran for the prep room.

"Mom?!" Meg's voice greeted her nervously as she went through the door. "What have - "

"Don't know yet Meg. We'll ask questions later. They say they're mutant turtles and I believe them, for whatever that's worth. Don't you fold up on me, Meg. I don't even know if we can save its life right now. You just keep cool and do whatever I tell you. Understood?"

Megan stared at her, threw a glance out the door and looked back again. "Okay."

"Good girl." Solid and sensible, that was Megan. She needed that right now. Melissa pulled on a smock to match Megan's, found a mask and surgical gloves. She scrubbed. She was still thinking furiously, but she was as ready as she ever would be. "Com'on, let's go." She practically marched back out into OR, purpose in every step.

She surveyed the group assembled there, hovering with concern over the sling. The eyes all came her way. "Alright. I want you all to move back and stay out of the way. This won't be pleasant, I'll be right up front with you there. If you're staying you _keep_ out of my way. I can't give you any guarantees. I'm going to ask you questions and if you know the answers you give them to me immediately. I'm making my best guess otherwise. But Megan and I are going to do whatever's possible to save your friend's life. Understood?"

There was silence. No objections. Just an exchange of glances around the group.

April O'Neil cleared her throat. "Anything," she said. "Anything, you've got it. His name's Leo. Leonardo, that is. We - "

"Enough. Save it for later. Make yourselves comfortable, since you're not leaving. I've got to get to work here."

Melissa Marshall breathed deeply, cleared her mind. She gathered up the tools of her trade, started by getting all those leather accoutrements off the turtle, wondering whatever it all was for. They were all dressed the same way, if dressed was the proper term, and they were carrying poles and sticks with chains and something that looked like short swords, once the one in the coat had shed that covering into a corner. Leather and masks and -

 _They've got weapons,_ it dawned on her. _They're armed, dammit. Armed!_ For a moment that thought rattled her. _Why? Why armed? Never mind. Just get to work, Mel..._

She started dishing out orders to her daughter.

~o~

It was something like he'd seen on Marcus Welby reruns. Donatello was hugging the wall next to a stainless steel counter with three different sized sinks and a bunch of drawers and cupboards bearing labels that were as precise and medically daunting as the conversation that Doctor Marshall was carrying on over Leo's unconscious body. He was worried to the point of nausea, and he just couldn't distance himself from the anxiety. That was _Leo_ on the table. This was for _real._ It _wasn't_ a Marcus Welby rerun. This was an operating room, and Leo was being operated on. Tubes had appeared. One went into Leo's arm and another went down his throat. Oxygen, he guessed. They closed Leo's mouth on it and taped it loosely shut. There was a monitor beeping, a dancing blip on a screen. There were surgical tools, scalpels and clamps and other items he couldn't even identify. There was a _saw..._

April had put herself over by the door. She'd found a NO ENTRY sign and hung it on the outside knob. Raphael was standing out in the middle of the room, as close to Leonardo as Doctor Marshall had allowed, and Michelangelo was shifting restlessly right behind him. It was a stupid place for Mike to be. Raph would be there, Raph _had_ to be there, no matter what the procedure, no matter what the outcome...Raph just couldn't deal with it any way _but_ directly, head to head. Mike, however...

Michelangelo was squeamish, though he didn't like to admit it. Maybe he thought he was providing moral support...Don didn't know quite what to make of it. He only knew that he didn't want to be that close. It was hard enough, listening from the wall when the bone saw started up, never mind the visuals -

She asked them if they knew what their blood types were. They didn't. Asked them if they had a normal temperature. That fluctuated, depending. Yes, they were cold-blooded. Normal blood pressure? No answer. The girl checked Raph's and Mike's, got a baseline for her mother. Checked Leo's. It was way down. Leo got a bag of saline or dextrose or something attached to the far end of a tube...he needed fluids badly.

Raph stood, statue-still, throughout. Mike shuffled, but held his ground. Doctor Marshall made incisions, cut a piece out of Leo's carapace around the point of the harpoon. She gave her daughter a pair of vise-grips, had her pull the harpoon straight down, slowly and carefully as she steadied the other end of it, and drew the thing straight _through_ Leonardo, the whole, bloodied length of it, until it was out. The daughter pulled the bit of shell off the end of the harpoon, dropped the shaft with a clatter and put the bit of shell back into place, fixing it there temporarily with a wad of gauze and surgical tape. The saw started up again, there were more incisions, on the plastral plates this time, the details of which Donatello did not want to see and after another moment Doctor Marshall pried Leo's shell _open..._

Clamps came into play. A renal artery had been nicked. _Lucky,_ she'd commented. If it had been severed the kidney would have been dead by now. Don shuddered. She put in sutures. There was liver damage. Livers were big, they healed fast. She didn't seem worried by that. There was a hole in the muscle that worked Leo's diaphragm...Leo would have some trouble breathing deeply for awhile. The monitor kept on beeping. The medical talk was peppered with mild obscenities and moderately surprised comments about mutant construction. There was even one statement made that confirmed gender.

Don had blinked. It stunned him that there might even have been a question, until he thought about it. It was true, all the books they'd ever seen had said it was sometimes really hard to tell with turtles...Don wondered if it would have made a difference if they'd discover that they were all female, decided it didn't matter finally, because Doctor Marshall had just confirmed otherwise and he didn't have any time for an identity crisis right now.

Michelangelo finally cracked. The harpoon had sliced a section of Leo's intestine out altogether. It had to come out, that loop was dead tissue now. It was slapped without ceremony into a stainless steel dish and the ends internally were stitched back together. Mike had moaned, when the piece had appeared. Moaned and backed away until he'd come up against the counter beside him. Mike was shaking, and Don pulled him around and into a supportive hug, shoring up whatever resources Michelangelo still had left to cope with it.

 _"They're taking him apart, Donnie!"_ Mike whispered, but it was all anguished and urgent. "They're taking Leo - "

"No, no way, Mikie," he murmured back, interrupting Mike in mid-sentence. "No. They're putting him back together. You just stay over here, no one said you had to watch." Mike had seen too many late night horror and sci-fi flicks. His automatic assumption was that Discovery meant Dissection. What was going on here fit that description too closely, though nothing was further from the truth. And Michelangelo simply did not deal well with serious subject matter.

 _"But - "_

 _"Shut up,_ Mikie. Just stay here with me and can it up. Hear me?" Mike squeezed his eyes closed, nodded tightly and leaned into the supporting arm. He stayed there. He shut up.

There was a clock up on the wall, just like they had in all the TV-land hospitals. Donatello was astonished when he looked to find that only an hour and a bit had gone by. Doctor Marshall must really have known what she was doing. She had accomplished an awful lot, in his estimation, in a short space of time. He had thought operations took hours and hours...it had felt that way.

She was talking about closing up, almost made it sound mundane.

"Will he be alright?" It was April that gave voice to the question.

Doctor Marshall glanced up at her. "Looks that way right now. But he lost a lot of blood. I'm real glad you got him here when you did. There's still a risk of secondary infection. Antibiotics should take care of that. But he's made it this far. There's no reason he shouldn't make it all the way. The next few days will be critical."

"Days?!" Raph exclaimed. "You mean, he has to stay here?"

"We've gotta take him home - " Mike added weakly. "We just can't..." his voice faded into silence as Doctor Marshall looked up, gave both Raph and Mike a withering stare.

"Your friend needed a little bit more than a band-aid here. Unless you want to kill him yourselves, he's staying." She paused to let them absorb it. "Now," she went on. "I have a few more rather routine things to do here. I'm ready for the explanation you owe me. Take your time. I'll let you know if I have to stop to pay extra attention to something. I _will_ be listening, whatever else it may look like."

Donatello traded worried glances with both his brothers and then he cleared his throat. Raph was no good at storytelling and Mike was far too upset. April paced into the room a few steps, reporter-ready with an explanation of her own prepared - Don read that in her eyes, that she was willing to tell the tale if he wasn't feeling up to it. April was _so_ wonderful. But Don thought that the task really should be up to them.

"Well," he began. "It sort of got started around sixteen years ago - "

~o~

"What you're looking for is secrecy then?"

It had been quite a tale. Melissa had listened, very carefully, to the whole thing, with virtually no interruptions at all. There had been an occasional pause, when she'd had to ask Meg to do a few things, but on the whole she had just let the turtle talk. That held its own fascination, that they could talk, and did talk and talked coherently besides. Glowing ooze. In the sewers. Mutant Turtles and a Mutant Rat. April O'Neil had picked up where the one in the purple mask left off, told how she'd come to know these creatures. They had both been rather sparing of details. She was about to start filling in the blanks.

There had been a brief silence in response to the question of secrecy. All of the Turtles shifted uncomfortably. Of course the answer had to be yes. She had known that even before she'd asked the question. They had been in hiding for sixteen years. It had taken a real crisis to bring them here, and they were all uneasy.

"We're certainly not looking for any publicity." Again it was Miss O'Neil that took the initiative to reply first. "Doctor Marshall, if there's any way at all - "

"There is." Melissa interrupted brusquely, before the woman got to pleading. She wasn't anxious for publicity herself, she hardly knew what she had here and wanted to think on it a bit more carefully before she came to any decisions. "There is an unused storage room in the basement of the quarantine building. Your friend can be kept there safely and under close supervision for as long as he'll need it. I have a temporary office down there right now primarily for the privacy. Minimal staff and interruptions. I'm spending a lot of time there and a little more won't raise any eyebrows. I even cleaned it out the other day. Does that sound as if it might be acceptable?" She watched as the big Turtle in the red mask looked to April, a long, consulting gaze.

Then it nodded.

"It looks like we're all in your capable hands, Doctor." April said. "What can we do to help?"

"Exercise a little patience. I ran out on a bunch of crocodiles without an explanation. I'm surprised nobody's paged me yet. I'm going to have to get back over there and see what's up, scout out a few things before - what did you say? Leo? - can be moved. Before I do that, I'll give Meg here a list of things that we'll need to take along, and you can get all of that into your van while I'm tied up." She consulted the clock. "There's still time to get it done before daylight. But before we get into that, I've got one more question that I'd like an answer to."

They waited, watching her. She sighed. It hadn't come up in the story. "Just how and why did your friend here manage to get a harpoon stuck in his belly?"

It was the one in the purple that responded. "We have an enemy. He scored a point tonight," it said. "That's a long story."

"Save it then." Melissa had just about wrapped up. Leonardo's shell was back into place. She used a few surgical staples, pinned it down at certain critical seams. She got an antiseptic out, wiped carefully across the damaged surface with it. "You all have names?"

It was question and statement at once. They did.

"Raphael." The big one in the red replied first.

"Donatello." The one that had done all the talking spoke again.

"Michelangelo." That from the smaller one in the orange mask. It seemed the most shaken of the lot.

"And Leonardo," she completed the list herself. How had they ever come by those titles? "I seem to detect a pattern here," she added lightly. "Pleased to meet you. I guess you've been told by now that I'm Melissa Marshall. You might also have gathered by now that this is my daughter, Megan McLaine. And before you ask, the last names are different because I've remarried. Say hello, Meg."

Megan stopped what she was doing, which was cleaning and prepping the instruments to go back into the sterilizer. A step ahead of her in that. OR was going to have to be back to its previous immaculate state in a hurry.

Meg looked around. "Um...hello," she said obediently, sounding a little strained. But Melissa could see that her daughter's mind was in high gear. Mutant Turtles. _Wow_. It was there, in her eyes along with a thousand questions that -

At that moment the door to OR Two swung open, catching all of them by surprise. April O'Neil jumped in startlement, closest to the disturbance. Megan spun at the noise, lost the tray that she'd been about to put on the counter.

The three Turtles tensed, and two of them reached for their weapons, a motion that made her heart thump loudly.

But she saw who it was, and relaxed immediately.

"And this - " she said into the ensuing pause. "Is my husband, Allan Marshall."

He stood there, frozen, just staring with his mouth open, at the group scattered around OR.

 _"Mel, what the hell is going on here?!"_

~ o ~

Allan Marshall was the last person that Megan McLaine had expected or wanted to see. It was disaster walking through the door.

She disliked her stepfather intensely, for a number of very good reasons. He had a way of spoiling things.

He was also the last person that these Turtles ought to encounter too. _God, what is he doing here?_ It was the middle of the night. On a weekend, no less - he hardly _ever_ came to the zoo, not without an express invitation anyway, and she knew that her mother hadn't made any such request today.

She had been no less astounded by these creatures than her mother. They made her nervous...but it was a nervous excitement and not a fear. They didn't seem dangerous and hadn't done anything, not yet, to prove otherwise. She supposed that time would tell. They talked like normal people, even acted like normal people. If she closed her eyes it was easy to imagine that they were just that. And that other lady didn't seem to be at all afraid of them. Her mother knew the lady from somewhere...that news report thing, she surmised, because the lady, whose name she hadn't caught if it had been mentioned at all, had said something about Channel Three when she'd been telling her part of the story.

 _What am I gonna do?_

Megan bent to pick up the instruments she'd dropped, moving with only half a mind to what she was doing. The rest of it was racing, and kept racing, as she listened to her mother answering the questions that her stepfather was pouring out, answering them as if he could actually be _trusted_ with something this monumental.

Megan McLaine knew better, didn't have the rose-colored tint in those same areas...

She froze, when he admitted to having come, just in case he could pick up a rare turtle. _That_ comment should have made them all nervous. She glanced at the clock. "We're running out of time!" Megan announced loudly, breaking off a repeat of the introductions before they even got started. _Don't tell him anything! Dammit, shut up Mom!_

They couldn't argue with that. Her mother left a minute later, went back to the quarantine building and the crocodiles. Left _her_ in charge of this lot and Allan Marshall, a realization that chilled her momentarily. But she had a pretty good idea what needed doing. She knew the storage room her mother had been talking about. It needed everything...a supply of dextrose, an IV stand, another, cleaner sling and something to support it. Heat lamps. Pharmaceuticals. The list was long. She wondered if she could get away with a heart monitor...

She sent Allan off to mop up the blood on the hallway floors, and he actually went, dazed that he was by the situation. No damn good in an emergency, that was her stepfather. She gathered things up, asked the news lady her name because she'd missed it and then asked April O'Neil to take the cartons out to her van. She was hoping very sincerely that the handlers had all gone home. Should have by now, but one of the techs might have stayed behind, just to keep an eye on the crocs until her mother showed up. Her mother would certainly send them all home now.

She did not know what to do about her stepfather. These Turtles had to be protected, somehow. Her heart had gone out to that short one when he had moaned and retreated. The other one had hugged and held him, had taken care of him. They couldn't possibly be dangerous, they cared too much. Megan kept on thinking about what to do, how to help. She took the time to bag up the bit of intestine, and the blood soaked gauze, vacuum-sealed the sterile pouch and got it on ice in the cooler - her Mom was going to want that for testing...she didn't want her stepfather to see it. She washed off the harpoon, dried it and handed it off to the biggest Turtle, who gathered up his coat and hat and rolled it all together for transport and safekeeping...

Her mother phoned within the half-hour. Leonardo was moved, under careful supervision. It was a good thing his friends were all there - the loaded sling was heavy and the stairs down to the sub-basement narrow and difficult to negotiate. These Turtles were awfully strong...built in a way that Conan the Barbarian himself would have been proud of.

The storage room quickly became overcrowded. Her mother kicked nearly everyone out so that she could work. The hallway filled with Turtles and people, all hovering nervously. An idea finally came to her, an idea that might just work. It was radical enough.

She pulled April O'Neil aside. "Don't talk to my stepfather," she warned her urgently. "I'll be back in five, if my mother asks. _Don't_ leave before I get back!" Megan turned and ran up the stairs.

It took longer than five minutes. She ran all the way to the staff room. Her back was bothering her. She gathered up her bag and change of clothes. Slipped into another outfit. She had some money, hoped it would be enough if she needed it for anything, probably wouldn't. She evaded her co-workers, did not want to have to answer any questions. She would have to let her mother do that. Her mother would also have to finish up in OR Two.

Her mother _wasn't_ going to be happy.

This was just too important though. Someday, her mother would understand, but that wasn't likely to be today...

Megan was out of breath by the time she got back to the quarantine building. She slowed, breathed deeply and waited for her heart rate to come down. It would hardly do to be all flushed and sweating when she got there. She came in through the service entrance, finding the van still there. She skirted the gallery, gave a single glance down into the pool at the crocodiles...the lights were low and they were resting, quiet on the ledge. She kept going, down the stairs and past the observation tanks into the narrow hallway that went to the lower level. A murmuring of voices reached her ears. It was almost daylight, there was talk of going.

 _I'm not too late..._

Megan rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Her mother looked up, had obviously been wondering where she'd been.

Concern and then exasperation crossed Melissa Marshall's face. Her mother noticed that she had changed. "Megan, whatever are you doing?"

Megan shifted, uncomfortable for a second under the scrutiny. It almost made her change her mind, but Allan Marshall happened to glance at her in that instant, hardening her resolve. She swallowed.

"I'm going with them." Megan announced.

~ o ~

 _Ransom._

That was what it amounted to. April shook herself when the girl stated her intentions. For a second she thought she hadn't heard properly, but Melissa Marshall had said 'I beg your pardon?' and the girl had repeated herself. April had _not_ misunderstood. Megan McLaine wanted to go with the Turtles. Into the sewers.

An argument had ensued, one that Doctor Marshall had dragged physically to the far end of the narrow hallway and conducted in urgent whispers and hushed anxiety. The girl did not change her mind. The Turtles drew April aside, to the other end of the corridor where they conducted a discussion of their own in similarly urgent tones.

"We're not terrorists! We don't _do_ hostages!" Raphael objected. "April, you'd better talk to her."

"We can't take her with us!" Mike whispered. "That's nuts!"

"I'm staying here." Donatello said firmly. "We can't leave Leonardo here alone. Can't."

Raph agreed wholeheartedly. "Not going to. There's no way Leo's staying here by himself. Can we trust 'em April? Maybe we _should_ take her along. Precaution. That's all."

"Sorta says we don't trust them very much though. Fine way to thank the Doctor that would be." Melissa Marshall had just saved Leonardo's life, there wasn't a shred of doubt about that in April's mind. To disappear with the Doctor's daughter struck her as pretty poor payment, and yet...

"Wasn't even our idea!" Raph pointed out.

"It's kidnapping, isn't it?" Michelangelo asked, confused.

"We're not gonna hurt her, Mikie."

"It makes sense," Don whispered. "Sort of a good guarantee, don't you think?"

"I'm wondering," April put in, "why she seems to think that it's necessary." She was remembering that the girl had told her not to speak to her stepfather. Maybe she didn't like her stepfather. Second marriages didn't always work to the advantage of teenagers. April had hardly heard ten words out of the girl, couldn't even guess at a motivation for the unexpected announcement. They didn't know these people. Didn't _know_ them at all. "Let me talk to them. And it was her idea, we can't be held responsible for that, If she really wants to be a hostage, then maybe we ought to let her - it is a sane precaution, the more I think about it."

"Hostage deal cuts both ways," Don added. "They'll have me and Leo, if they're worried. They can even have my bo if it'll help."

"Doubt they'll know just what that means, but I'll tell them. Wait here, I'll see what's up." April took a deep breath, and started toward the other end of the hallway, giving Doctor Marshall every opportunity to take note of her approach and conclude or suspend her own discussion. Allan Marshall had backed into the small room where Leo was resting and was hovering near the door, keeping out of the crossfire.

 _What about him?_ April wondered. _Why not talk to him?_

 _And what does_ she _want?_

Melissa Marshall's eyes came around as she noticed that her daughter's gaze had redirected itself down the corridor. The look she gave April had a hard edge to it, but there wasn't any animosity there, not for April, anyway.

"Well," she began. "Miss O'Neil. I trust that you and your companions have just gone over this - this _offer_ that my daughter has extended?"

"It's a very...ummm...kind gesture," April replied, with apology even though they owed none in the matter. "But it isn't necessary. We'd all like to thank you for everything that you've done, and this seems - "

"A mite contradictory? I agree - "

"But she _is_ welcome, if she feels that strongly about it." April continued. "Friends are always welcome." She tried to make it sound palatable and put a good face on the fact that a hostage wasn't such a bad idea. "I'm certain Splinter would like to meet the both of you, to extend his own gratitude. And I can assure you that Megan would be perfectly safe with us."

Doctor Marshall blinked hard, not having expected the offer to be accepted, apparently. She drew air and opened her mouth as if to object, and then closed it again to bite her lip pensively.

"So it's settled," Megan said into the silence that her mother left hanging.

 _"It is not settled!"_ Her mother spun on her, shouting.

April took a step back, but the girl held her ground and squared her shoulders. "It's settled," she repeated. "And you've got my reasons. You'll know how to get in touch with me. I'll _phone_. And besides - "

"I know! I've got my own guarantees!" Doctor Marshall closed her eyes. "Miss O'Neil, you'll have to forgive that reference. But if you take my daughter then I won't have any choice but to - "

"Consider Leonardo a hostage?" April said softly. "We've discussed it. The Turtles agree. Donatello is going to stay too. Doctor Marshall...you could blow the whistle on them anytime and Megan would still be safe. You'll know how to reach me anytime. Megan won't be under any restraint to call you either. I realize that this is all rather strange and sudden for everyone."

"I'll wake up soon. It'll all be a dream..." she muttered, and rubbed her eyes wearily. "You're all going to be late. It's gotta be just about daylight. Everyone that's going just better get out of here before I change my mind. And Megan - " One finger went to stab at the girl's chest. "You'd damn well better understand that I'm holding _you_ responsible for this."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Leaving me here to do all the work, that's what you're doing. Now get going. All of you. I have a patient to see to - " Doctor Marshall tossed her head and marched back down the hallway, dismissing them all with that gesture. "Phone me!"

The girl shouldered her carry-all and looked at April. "She means it." Megan said. "We'd better get going."

April dug into her own bag, found one of her business cards and left it with Donatello. "For the Doctor," she said. "You handle this with tact, diplomacy and good manners. Best behavior. She's just upset right now. I saw a phone down there in that little office. Use it if you have to. Be careful. They're still strangers. And keep your bo. They didn't ask for it."

"Always," Donatello nodded, and the response was applicable to all instructions. Calm and cool, the only Turtle to leave behind under the circumstances, April decided.

"Time." Don added. "She's right, you'd better get going."

"Be back later," Raphael gave Don a slap on the shoulder, and so did Mike. "Take care of Leo."

"Take care of Splinter," Don told them. "Hang loose, Mikie, it'll be okay. You'll see."

Michelangelo nodded. He was still pretty shaken, and regarded the girl with something like dismay as he watched her following Raphael up the stairs.

April tailed them all, got them loaded into the van, turned the key and pulled out of the docking bay at the rear of the building. It was such an extraordinarily normal action that she felt for an instant like Melissa Marshall, thought that perhaps it had all been a dream. But she was short two Turtles, and had a strange girl there in the front seat with her. She heard Raphael querying Michelangelo, wanting to know if he was okay.

"Hell of a way to get a girl to take home..." Mike answered.

~o~


	5. True Forces - Chapter 3

**True Forces Chapter Three**

Raphael was tired. More tired than he'd felt in a long while, and he recognized it as the aftermath of stress as opposed to the result of physical exertion.

Nonetheless, he had April drop them off at a sewer access several miles from home once they had left the zoo. He'd returned the spare coat and fedora to the bin in the back of the van, and given both of the harpoons to Mike to carry.

"You sure, Raph?" April had asked him with concern. "It's not like I mind the drive."

"No, we'll walk from here," he'd responded. "Need to unwind a bit."

That had been his excuse. Moreover, he did not want Megan McLaine to know too exactly where the den was located...it wasn't like she was someone that they knew, for all that she and her mother had just saved Leo's life.

April had given him one of those understanding looks; she'd gotten to know the Turtles pretty well. "Okay," she conceded, with a glance at the girl with them. "Call me. Got it? Anytime."

"Got it. Fill Casey in for us?"

"You bet. Give my regards to Splinter." April had given him a hug then, moral support that he needed badly, one for him and one for Mike.

It made him feel a bit better, at least as long as it lasted.

"Thanks," he murmured, and waved her off, watching from the alleyway as her van receded into the early morning traffic. The city was waking up and it was high time to get under cover.

Michelangelo already had a manhole cover pried up. Megan was watching Mike with a discernible dismay, never mind that they had warned her what to expect. _Her idea_ , he reminded himself, dismissing the second's regret that he hadn't taken April up on the lift closer to home just for this girl's sake.

It bothered him that he did not know and could not figure out what had prompted her to give herself up as ransom while Leo was under her mother's care.

It bothered him even more that it made a great deal of sense. He'd only been thinking a minute ago that he didn't trust her enough for her to know where they lived.

But a hostage? It sounded too much like something that Shredder would do, sensible or not. He just knew that Splinter was going to take a dim view of it.

Mike was down the manhole. Raph looked at the girl. "Ladies first," he said, motioning her after Michelangelo. "It's not as bad as all that down there you know. Didn't April say?"

"It's okay," she assured him. "I was just - thinking, that's all."

She took a deep breath, and started to climb.

Raphael paused for another good look around, double-checking his bearings, and then went down after her.

He had a lot of thinking to do before they got home.

~o~

There was only a mile left to go. The girl was still nervous, moving with them through the tunnels, stiff and wincing from time to time.

Probably Mike had noticed it too, but they had both put it off to the unusual nature of the situation.

The closer they got, the more Raphael muttered. The odd curse now and then had become a more or less continual flow of coherent invective. He had not liked leaving Leonardo back there, with strangers, however capable or well-meaning, and he damned the general circumstances under his breath for the hundredth time.

 _It'll be okay,_ he told himself. _Don's watching and April's gonna cover as best she can. We've got this girl along to explain. Leo will get better soon._

He had been trying to put it all together into a nice, neat package to give to Splinter, all the facts laid out and the reasons for their course of action lined up for delivery in a cool, competent dissertation. It kept falling apart on him, washed away in a muddle of emotions that ran the gamut from anxiety to guilt to rage and a dozen other states of mind that were applicable in turn. Anxiety for Leo, guilt because they'd been stupid enough to run into the trap, and rage for the enemy that had put it there for them to find. He'd been embarrassed by his own ignorance when Doctor Marshall had started to ask them questions that he couldn't answer...what did _he_ know about blood types or pressure? Couldn't even hazard a guess as to what damage the harpoon might have done because he was just as ignorant of what was hidden under their shells...

Splinter probably couldn't have answered any better than they had; they'd just never been hurt that seriously, not even last year when The Foot had beaten him senseless, his injuries hadn't been as bad as what Leo had suffered today. Not even close.

Leonardo had damn near _died._

And Raph felt his knees go to water every time that thought crossed his mind.

 _"Raph!"_

Raphael stopped, turning to look at Michelangelo, who had, he realized suddenly, been repeating himself.

"What?" he snapped back, embarrassed again and wondering how long Mike had been trying to get his attention. Megan had stopped several feet behind, and backed up another few steps when he swung around.

Mike blinked at him. "Ease up, dude. You're getting scary."

That was all?

Raph forced his shoulders to slump, deliberately relaxing muscles that were far more tense than he'd realized. _Damn. I am distracted,_ he thought. So distracted he probably would have walked right past Shredder if Shredder had been standing around down here polishing his armour. Distracted right into stupidity.

Shredder in the sewers was not an impossibility.

 _Oh, Leo, Leo, Leo! I'd better get a grip on this_ -

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What are we gonna tell Splinter, Raph? He's not gonna like this."

Raph wasn't sure if Mike was referring to the girl specifically or not. Or just the whole damn situation.

"No. I doubt he will like it. I don't like it either. Do you?" He didn't even give Mike the chance to reply. "Splinter'll just have to understand that it wasn't a matter of choice. He will. You know that. Leo was _dying_ , Mikie," he took a deep breath, the first time he'd dared to say it out loud. "Dying," he repeated, for emphasis.

Michelangelo shifted uncomfortably. He knew, all right. Raph could see that.

"I'm worried," Mike said, in a tone that was quieter than Mike was usually wont to use.

He remembered Mike's reactions in the operating room. Raph exhaled slowly and reached over to give Mike a comforting pat on the shoulder. Show Michelangelo a battle and let go - that was Mike's style. He loved a good fight. But he needed a tangible foe. This whole situation wasn't one that they could hit back at, and Mike was feeling the stress just as keenly as he was. Worse, maybe. Mikie didn't care much for serious thinking, and played ostrich every time Splinter even mentioned Being Gone. This was different - Leo had just about Gone, and not in some fuzzy, far-off and easily dismissible future. This had been immediate, and real and it had hit Mikie right between the eyes. Got him right where he lived.

Like it had gotten the rest of them.

Donatello wasn't so dumb...facing Splinter with the news wasn't an enviable task. It wasn't even that Splinter was going to do anything terrible to them. It was that they had to face up to their own careless stupidity...

"Yeah, I'm worried too, Mikie." Raphael let his gaze go beyond his brother to Megan McLaine.

She had been studiously looking the other way, politely minding her own business while they'd carried on the conversation, one that she had assumed had not been meant to include her. Her head jerked up a second later, as if she'd suddenly realized herself watched. She looked away again quickly, unsure of what his features were communicating.

Nervous.

 _Yeah, for sure, nervous_. Raphael thought. Situation can't be much better for her. They were used to dealing with humans, however furtively, but the Turtles had to strike her as the most bizarre thing to come along in her entire life -

 _So why the hell is she here?!_

He deliberately softened his tone and stepped over to take her by the arm. "Hey, it's okay, kid. Not too much further." Kid. Now why had he said that? She was probably older than he was.

"Nobody's gonna hurt you." Mike added, helpfully. "This was your idea. Remember?"

Her eyes searched their faces one more time, and came back to Raphael. "Leo's going to be okay," she offered. "You got him there in time. My Mom said so. And she knows."

Incredible. She was trying to make _them_ feel better.

Raph's opinion of the girl went up a notch. "Thanks," he murmured back. "Com'on. We're never gonna get there at this rate. Guess we'd better tell you all about Splinter too while we're at it. Had enough surprises for one day..."

~o~

Splinter was waiting for them when they arrived. Raph shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He was the first through the door, the first to stop and meet the calm and typically Splinter gaze that was full of patience and wisdom. Splinter blinked in mild surprise when Megan peered around him at their Master, and said nothing while his eyes searched his face and Michelangelo's for whatever was to be found there. It didn't seem to bother him that they'd come back without Leo and without Don and with strange company in tow.

"Master Splinter - "' he began. "We - "

Splinter interrupted him. "You have had some trouble. I know, Raphael. Come in and sit, both of you, and introduce your guest."

Michelangelo ushered Megan into their best chair, but Raph found himself unable to move. His eyes went to Mike and Mike came to stand just behind him. "Master..." Raph could hardly find the right words. This was a trifle more serious than losing a sai. "Splinter - _Leo nearly got killed!"_ he blurted out. "Shredder had the old den set up and we - "

"Raphael." Splinter interrupted him again. _"Sit down."_

Raph did, moving close to Splinter's chair and kneeling there formally, the way that Leo usually did when issuing a report. Mike came too, and copied him.

Splinter sighed. "I said to sit, not to kneel," he admonished them gently. "You are upset, both of you. And you must tell me clearly and carefully what has happened. But first, you should remember your manners." Splinter's eyes went again to Megan, over in the corner now.

She stood, seeing that she was the object of the conversation, opened her mouth as if to say something, and then changed her mind. She was trying not to stare and trying not to appear as nervous as her body language was telling.

"Megan McLaine," Raph supplied into the silence. "Master Splinter, this is Megan McLaine. She and her mother helped us today after Leo was hurt."

"Then I have cause both to thank and to welcome you, Miss McLaine," Splinter said inclining his head. "Please, you do not have to stand."

"Ummm...hi," she said, sounding shy, but it was nerves again, Raph was convinced. The girl was _not_ shy, he was equally certain. "Thank you," she added, and sat back down, apparently at a loss for further conversation.

Splinter looked back to the two Turtles still kneeling before him. "Now, you may begin, Raphael. How was Leonardo hurt today?"

The story did not take as long to tell as Raph had thought it might. Mike added his comments and produced the red headband and the two harpoons when they reached that part of the story. Their Master examined the things with evident dismay. Splinter questioned them closely on every aspect of the events, before turning his attention back to Megan McLaine.

Splinter beckoned her closer, and she came to supply more specific information about Leo's injury than either he or Mike could have provided.

"But why," the question came at last. "Why, Miss McLaine, are you here as a...a hostage?" Splinter said the word with distaste. Raph had known he wouldn't like it. Splinter made the inquiry, no less puzzled by her insistence on the condition than Raphael had been.

They were all looking at her and that made her uneasy. Her gaze went to the floor. "You can trust my mother," she began. "You could trust me." Her toe scuffed at the brick beneath her running shoe. "But you can't trust my stepfather. He'd give you away, provided he had half an opportunity. There had to be a restraint on those impulses."

"But why? Why would he want to 'give us away' as you have put it?"

"He has...ego problems."

That was not much of an explanation, Raph thought. They all waited.

She took a deep breath, and went on into the silence when none of them spoke. "He's looking for recognition. He's a glory seeker. He likes attention. But being a professor of herpetology at a small university doesn't provide any opportunity where you can get a lot of that sort of thing. Herpetology is a field where one moves in pretty small circles, all things considered, and the only real way to make a big name for yourself is to discover something. Something like a new species." Megan's voice faded, and her eyes went to Raph and Mike.

"Something like mutant turtles, you mean." Raphael said, with some resentment.

She could only shrug. "Yeah, you could say that. You've got my Mom stirred up pretty good, and she has better motives."

It had always been a serious hazard. As a group they hadn't ever worried overmuch about being sighted on occasion, because people normally dismissed them either as an elaborate hoax or as figments of their own imaginations. Falling into the hands of exploitive sideshow operators or making headlines in the more sensational tabloids ranked fairly low on their list of concerns. But to catch the interest of the scientific community would have been, and now could very well be, another story altogether. Serious people on a genuine quest for knowledge and having no selfish ulterior motives were probably the greatest hazard they could run. And it was that probability that had always kept them guarding themselves with such secrecy.

Today, they had delivered Leonardo right into their hands.

"And your mother?" Splinter asked her then. "What does she think of this action?"

"Nothing good..." she muttered. "She doesn't understand. She's got a different viewpoint on things. But she'll keep my stepfather in line. She has that sort of sway with him."

"Does your stepfather care nothing for you himself?"

Her eyes jerked up as if it was not a question she had expected would occur to them. "We don't get along," she said, by way of explanation.

Raph watched as Splinter gazed at her, long and thoughtful. "It has been a trying night," he said finally. "For all of you. Rest, I believe, is in order. Later, I will go to see Leonardo myself." He paused, again thinking. "Michelangelo, you will please show our guest our home. Miss McLaine, you will have to find yourself a comfortable spot to rest. Such as it is, our home is yours." He inclined his head again at the girl.

"Meg," she said suddenly. "You can call me Meg. Nobody ever calls me Miss McLaine."

"Meg." Splinter repeated the single syllable. "It is too short. I will call you Megan, if that pleases you," he suggested.

"Sure," she shrugged, as if anything would have been better than the formality. "Suit yourself." Megan let her eyes travel around their den, taking her first active interest in the surroundings. Mike gestured her over, and took her on a tour.

Raphael watched them go, then shifted his gaze to Splinter, who was also watching as Mike started in on one of his chatty monologues. There was tension in Splinter's shoulders.

"Master?" Raph asked, seeing it, wondering if he'd done right in bringing the girl along at all.

Splinter turned to look at him. "She is hiding something," he said, with absolute certainty.

That made Raphael very nervous.

~o~

He found out far sooner than he'd thought, what it was.

Raphael hadn't been surprised to find that she had settled on Don's 'room' as a place to lay her head down, Donatello being the closest one could come to a fastidious Turtle in the known universe. Don had built himself a retreat in the far recesses of the den, screened it off with a privacy barrier and furnished it with a double four poster, and slightly bent brass bed that he had bribed Mike into helping him haul back a distance of fifteen blocks one night after a scavenging mission. April had given him an old, floral-print quilt to go with it and Don had completed the ensemble with a half dozen imperfect pillows, likewise scavenged from a textile mill he knew about halfway across town. Raph had always thought Don looked ridiculous sleeping in it, until he'd tried it one night when Don wasn't around and found out just how comfortable it really was, floral-prints notwithstanding. It was close to the bathroom and far from the drafts of the front door. The area was further embellished with reading lights, a working tape deck and numerous bookcases of brick and board, the shelves of which were filled with mouldy but legible magazines and paperbacks and a massive pile of non-functional electronics that Don hadn't gotten around to fixing or stripping for parts yet.

Splinter had busied himself in their kitchen while Mike was still touring with the girl, out of the den and down the tunnel a block to the space that they called their gymnasium. Their gym was, in fact, an old silt chamber, blocked off at some point in the distant past, now dried and swept clean to the bare bricks of its construction and, again, thanks to Don, floodlit and wired for sound.

Raphael picked at the sandwich Splinter put in front of him, washed it down with a half can of cola, and conducted Megan to Don's space when she'd come back from her tour with Mike and politely declined the meal, pleading fatigue. He could relate to that, and he'd given her a friendly, and what he hoped was a comforting clap on the back prior to saying good night.

The reaction he got had startled him.

The friendly clap had _hurt_ , and Megan shied away from him with a sharp intake of breath and a clearly pained expression twisting her features.

The startlement pushed closer to shock, as the pieces fell suddenly into place. Raph's memory clicked, and he recalled the stiff and wincing movements he'd seen most of the way back through the sewers after April had dropped them off earlier. She'd been in pain and bearing with it silently all along -

"You're hurt!" Raph had her firmly by the arm before she could move to evade the grip and put the brass bed between them. "Let me see - "

"Let go!" Megan retorted sharply, and tried to pull her arm out of his grasp. "I'm all right. Just leave be - it's not important or relevant so - "

"Guess again, kid!" His tone was stern. "Splinter thought you were holding something back. Now just sit still or I'll get both him and Mike in here to have a look too!" He pushed her down onto the edge of the bed as the struggle subsided quickly, twisted her shoulders until she turned her back to him and then carefully peeled her sweatshirt up from the waist.

 _Oh hell -_

Bruises. And welts. Some of which were only a hairsbreadth from bleeding. A recent beating written there for anyone with nominal powers of observation to see, if anyone was paying half a mind...

There were other, older traces too, that said there was a history of the same.

"All right. Who did it?" Raphael let the shirt fall back down and moved to stand in front of her.

She would not meet his look. "Not relevant," she murmured. "Just forget it."

Raph already had a good guess in mind. "Bets on your stepfather," he said, recalling the reactions that the man had aroused when he'd shown up at the zoo unexpectedly, and the look that Splinter had drawn from her when mentioning him.

 _We don't get along.._.

"I'm waiting." Raph reminded her, as if she could have failed to notice that he hadn't moved. "Want me to count to ten?"

"Count to ten thousand if you like," she told him sullenly. "I just said that - "

She hadn't denied that her stepfather was the culprit. _Damn!_ Leo was back there with the guy...

"Anyone," Raph interrupted her, putting his snout down to her nose for emphasis. _"Anyone_ hanging around my brother that does this sort of thing most certainly is relevant!" Raphael straightened with his hands on his hips. "I'll be back. You need some ice on that. Don't go away."

"Wouldn't even dream of it," she muttered sarcastically under her breath. "Take your time."

But Raphael wasn't in any mood for the levity. When he came back, it was with Splinter right behind him and Michelangelo eavesdropping from the other side of the privacy screen, even though he hadn't been invited. Raph didn't discourage him - Mike was just as concerned for Leonardo's well-being as he was. Splinter dismissed him, and he went.

But only far enough to join Mike behind the barrier. They exchanged silent glances, and settled, ninja quiet, to listen...

~o~

It had, without a doubt, been the most amazing day in Megan's life. For a time, she had actually forgotten that Allan Marshall had lost his temper again and taken a belt to her back, her attention derailed and diverted onto a far more fascinating tangent that had Raphael in a trench-coat as the starting point, and this gentle if oversized Rat as the latest stopover.

Splinter was just looking at her again, long and patient, with soft brown eyes that drained stress from her shoulders as she held the gaze. She had meant to hold out, not to get into the matter that Raphael had obviously brought to his attention. Splinter did not demand to see her back, or ask what it was all about. He just waited, patiently, for her to relent.

"I have brought ice," he said, after the long moment. "It is melting."

She caved in to it. "All right." Megan turned to sit cross-legged on the bed, knowing there was no way around it, and pulled her sweatshirt up again. The ice helped.

"Allan Marshall has a temper," she explained. "And he's been under a lot of strain lately. I just happened to be the can he found to kick."

"Megan McLaine," Splinter responded. "You are hardly a 'can' to be kicked. You have been tolerating this abuse." He did not ask why aloud, but the unasked question was there in his tone.

She was annoyed that the Turtles were eavesdropping.

"My Mom doesn't know. I don't want her to know. And I hope that those two back there are going to keep their beaks _shut_ the next time they go to visit Leonardo," she raised her voice, addressing the comment to Turtles unseen. She didn't turn around, but she heard them moving and when she did glance over her shoulder, it was to find two heads peering at her around the barrier.

"I must ask you to forgive them," Splinter requested, his nose twitching at the same two faces. "They are not normally so ill-mannered. It is just that they are concerned for Leonardo."

"Well that's good." Megan softened her tone. "They should be."

"I thought you said he was going to be all right?" Raphael piped up, sounding alarmed.

"He'll get better. That's not the problem. Allan Marshall is the problem. Why do you think I'm here?"

There was a short silence.

"You are not convinced that you are hostage enough to restrain your stepfather?" Splinter stated rather than asked. "Perhaps," he suggested gently. "Perhaps, you should begin at the beginning."

She sighed, expelling the air slowly and did. She told them how far back the McLaines and the Marshalls went. How they had all gone to the same schools together, and back then, how there had been some competition as to who was going to marry her mother. How her father had finally done that and that Allan had married someone else. They had drifted and gone their separate ways. She told them about how they had traveled, gave them an extremely brief history of her own childhood. About four years ago, her parents moved here to New York in pursuit of enhanced career opportunities. Except for the fact that it was New York and nobody liked it very much, how that had been okay too.

Until, about three years previously, her father had gotten himself killed in a traffic accident. Megan paused then, reflecting sadly on that occurrence.

"I am sorry." Splinter said.

The two Turtles had exchanged glances, but remained quiet.

"Yeah, I was too. My mother went very strange for awhile after that, understandably, and she's never gotten over it. Anyway, about the same time, Allan Marshall was going through a nasty divorce and having custody battles with his ex for the kids. There's three of them, a set of twins who are my age, and a little girl who just turned twelve this year. He got the boys, and she got the girl and moved to Nebraska. Allan didn't take any of it well - it was a big blow to his ego and they're still not on speaking terms, although the two of them did come to the wedding and she seemed nice enough to me." Megan paused again, gathering her thoughts. Splinter and the Turtles just waited for her to continue.

At least they weren't interrupting.

"So, that part's all history. Two years ago there was this zoologist's convention upstate. My Mom and I went, and we ran into Allan and the twins. And if I thought she'd been strange after my Dad died, she got really weird at the conference, I'm still not sure what it was. Maybe they were just remembering better times, but there was this whirlwind romance. Two months later they got married."

"Rushed it, did they?" Raphael commented.

She shrugged. "I thought so. Still do. They're not at all compatible. Like I said, I still don't understand it. But it's not going well for them now. Honeymoon's over. They've been fighting a lot."

"And this is the 'strain' you mentioned?" Splinter asked.

"Part of it. Mostly it's the twins. Or one of them. Devon and Trevor. One's a delinquent and the other's a nerd. Don't get me wrong - I happen to like the nerd very much. But Devon...that's the delinquent one...has been in trouble lately. He hangs around with the wrong crowd, defies his father at every turn, whatever. I think he misses his mother and resents mine. Blames his Dad. So far he hasn't done anything serious, at least not that anyone knows about anyway, but he's getting wilder all the time. Trevor's the only one that seems able to communicate with him anymore."

Michelangelo spoke up. "So just how does your back happen to fit into all that?"

"He has a temper. He sits on things for a long time and then he just explodes. Trev said once he used to break things."

"He ever hit them?"

"They're bigger than he is."

"Oh. So he's a bully too." Raphael said, extreme dislike in the tone that he used. "So, when did it start?"

"Couple of months ago. He had a fight with my mother, had a fight with Devon, forgot about his daughter's birthday and got a nasty phone call from his ex about it, all on the same day. Then I walked in, and he knows that I don't like him very much." She sighed. "I was too surprised to do anything the first time. It was sudden and then over. He had the decency to be remorseful, begged me not to mention it to my mother - which I will admit to having been sorely tempted to do."

"Well, then - " Raphael began.

" - why didn't you?" Michelangelo finished. "If things aren't going so well then - "

"Because I'm _not_ going to be responsible for finishing it, that's why!" Her voice rose, snapping. "I don't _have_ to say anything. It's almost over now."

They were all looking at her, not comprehending the why of it.

"Look," she told them all, patiently, because it probably didn't make sense to anyone but herself anyway. "My Mom is all I've got. We've never had a real argument, not since I can remember. I've even gone along with this whole marriage thing because it's important to her, for whatever reasons. She gets some deeply rooted emotional thing from Allan. She needs him and he needs her, even though they don't get along about it. It's been a strange relationship. But I think they both know it's just about over. So I'm staying out of it. It's going to die all by itself."

Splinter blinked at her. "Do you not think that your mother cares more for your well-being than that?"

Megan blinked back, exasperated, because if any of them were going to understand, she had thought it would be Splinter. "Exactly. Of course she does. That's why I won't tell her."

Another confused silence followed.

"Don't you see?" she asked. "The worst Allan Marshall can do to me is make me hurt for a week. He's already done the worst he can to her, if I tell her, because it will make her hurt _forever_...she knows that I wasn't exactly all for this thing in the first place. If she ever finds out that I'm the one paying for it, she'll suffer until the day she dies. And I _won't_ be responsible for that! She's all I've got," Megan repeated. "There aren't any other McLaines. It's just her and me. That's all."

There was another space of time during which no one spoke. This time Megan waited. She couldn't think of any other better way to explain it, and if these Turtles and this Rat didn't understand, then that was just going to have to be the way things stayed. She wasn't sure how much these creatures understood about human behavior anyway, although it seemed to be a lot. But they knew now, and they could talk and they would be seeing her mother again before she would. It would hurt her mother too, to find out that she would tell them and not her...

"Not a single word to my Mom..." She glared at them, thinking on that possibility. _"Promise me."_

"Megan McLaine," Splinter began, after a moment. "We are deeply in your debt, yours and your mother's. If you wish our silence, you will have it." His eyes went to the two Turtles, now standing inside the privacy barrier.

"Promise." Michelangelo said, under the scrutiny.

"Yeah, me too," Raphael echoed, but it was more grudging.

"That means you can't take my stepfather apart either. No, and I mean _no_ suspicious behavior."

The Turtles exchanged glances. Michelangelo shrugged. Raphael looked back at her. "Okay. Until the minute he snitches on Leonardo. I thought we were discussing why you're not such a valuable hostage."

"I'm sorry. I can't guarantee his actions. My mother's important to him. I'm really hoping that will be enough. It was the best I could think of at the time."

"But - " Michelangelo started. "But then - "

"She is correct," Splinter interrupted. "No one can guarantee the actions of another. Megan, again I must thank you. You have acted on Leonardo's behalf, on your own initiative. We will also do what we can to protect Leonardo, after our own fashion. You have warned us of the danger, and we will do what is possible to ward Leonardo from it." Splinter laid down the cold cloth he had been pressing to her back, and picked up one of her hands. "Thank you," he said again.

Splinter's hands felt very alien, holding onto hers. But the pressure was gentle, as had been the ministrations to her back. His eyes were still that deep, soft brown. He meant it, Megan could tell. She gazed back at him, knew that she could put her trust there, and she was not quick these days to trust.

"You're - " she felt embarrassed, not used to being the object of such attention. "You're welcome," she murmured. "We'll just have to see that it all works out, that's all. I'd like to help."

There was a bond there, a cohesiveness among these creatures, as alien and different as they were, that touched a resonant chord in her, and she knew that she had been right to come, in spite of her mother's condemnation of the action.

"We will need your help," Splinter replied. "But when you are better rested." He stood, letting her hand go. He motioned the two Turtles away, moving to follow them as they vanished with a murmured 'goodnight' and 'see ya later', disappearing toward the outer reaches of their den. "Please, you must try to rest, Megan McLaine," he added. "You have nothing to fear from us."

Her eyes did not leave his for a moment. "I know," she responded quietly. "I won't be any trouble either. Make those two get some rest too. They need it."

Splinter just nodded, and then he left her alone, there in the bent brass bed, with a lot to think about, and a very deep and certain knowledge that her life was simply never going to be the same again...

~o~

It was nearly midday, by the clock. Raphael was awake. Sleep was eluding him still, in spite of the effort he had made to clear the worries out of his head and meditate himself into slumber, the way any good ninja was supposed to be able to.

Michelangelo had fallen asleep, after packing down a good meal, relaxing now that he was home and the situation seemed to be in some semblance of control. Mike still wasn't happy about it, but there was a plan now, a coping strategy, and all he had to do was his best to follow it. Leonardo was patched up and alive. Donatello was with him. Splinter was going to go back later with Raph, and Mike was going to guard the girl. There was nothing more Mike needed to think about beyond that. Splinter was in charge now, and Mike slept easy.

A fine couple of ninjas he and Mike had turned out to be...the girl should not have known that they were behind that privacy screen, but she had. _Lucky guess,_ he kept telling himself, but there was a doubt there. They shouldn't have been caught at it though. Splinter hadn't said a word about it, probably wouldn't, as he'd already admonished them for the bad manners. That was Splinter. He only said things once, and trusted them to be listening.

He gave up the meditating, and took himself out of the den and down to their gym, determined to meditate in his own way. Like Allan Marshall, Raph occasionally felt the need to break things. Raphael addressed his concerns to the used punching bag that Casey had picked up for them at a second-hand outlet just after Christmas. His list of concerns seemed to be a long one.

 _Leo..._

Raphael hit the bag once, making it swing. Yep. Leo, right at the top of the list.

 _Shredder..._

He round-housed the bag hard, and followed that through with a couple of solid punches and another kick that sent the bag in an arc toward the ceiling.

 _A masochist girl..._

Raph caught the bag as it came back down through the high arc and steadied it. What the hell does one do with a masochist girl and a noble cause? He wasn't happy about the promise she'd gotten Splinter to extract from them. The girl's back was a mess. Another concern, that.

 _Allan Marshall..._

The bag bore the brunt of that too, another flying kick that sent it ceilingward again.

 _Leo's back there, so's he and Melissa Marshall is blind..._

Raphael stopped the bag with a resounding _whap_ , blocking the downward swing with absent-minded skill. He was not really working at practicing, as much as he was working off residual energy.

 _Leo. Leo, Leo, Leo..._

He could not stop thinking about Leonardo. Leo had almost _died..._

He leaned his head into the stilled bag, pounding it inattentively with anxiety knotting itself in his belly.

How was he supposed to sleep with all this stuff rolling around inside his head -

"Raphael."

Oh, damn. Splinter. _I didn't even hear him coming...really fine ninja Raph!_

His shoulders slumped, and then he straightened, turning, and knelt as Splinter approached, self-admonition for the failure to notice.

"Raphael, you are going to wear your knee pads out." Splinter shook his head slowly. "You should be sleeping."

"I tried, Master, but..."

"None of this is your fault alone, Raphael, if there is any fault at all. Shredder set these events in motion. It seems to me that you have all dealt with the circumstances well."

"Leo nearly died."

Splinter laid one hand on his head, as if to soothe the thought away. Raphael closed his eyes and the knots went taut. Leo had nearly _died_.

"But he did not..." Splinter reminded him. "You saw to it that he found help."

"It was - " Raph shook his head. "It was sheerest luck! He was more dead than alive, Master! There wasn't anything that we could have done that would have mattered and if - "

 _"If,_ I know, is a very big word, Raphael. _'If_ ' can overwhelm you, should you allow it to. I would not be questioning the luck that smiled on Leo today, be it of the sheerest variety or not. Leonardo did _not_ die. He is now more alive than dead. That is the thought you should put into your mind now, Raphael."

Raphael took a deep breath. "Possess the right thinking," he said it for Splinter, so that Splinter wouldn't have to.

The hand paused in its soothing motion. "Yes. Exactly, Raphael. I am going to need you later. And you will have to be better rested."

Raph looked over toward the door, to the tunnel that led back to the den. "You shouldn't have left her alone. Is Mike watching her?"

"Michelangelo is sleeping, as he should be. She is not dangerous, Raphael. Nor is it her intention to escape. She genuinely means to help us. And - " Splinter shrugged, "- she is also asleep."

"Why does she let him hurt her? I don't understand."

"Were you not listening? He has never hurt her."

 _Why can't anyone just tell me anything?_ Raph thought, in confusion. _Why does it always have to be riddles?_

Splinter saw the look in his eyes. "Raphael. Megan McLaine has a core of steel. He has never breached it. He has damaged her body, perhaps, but he has never touched _her_ , never even come close. I find her rather remarkable. She sees very clearly, and is possessed of a wisdom far beyond her years. Her father's loss taught her much, I believe. I do not think you have to fear for her. She is very much in command of her own life, and is walking her own path with both eyes open. She _possesses the right thinking._ " Splinter tapped his nose lightly with one finger, for emphasis.

"But - "

"I am hearing 'but' too often. The girl has sense, Raphael, more sense than at least one Turtle I can name." Splinter cuffed his snout gently. "I must go with you to see Leonardo, later tonight. Michelangelo will stay here with Megan McLaine. Casey is going to come, I have spoken with him already. But Donatello will be very exhausted by then, and you will be staying with Leonardo next. You must rest now, Raphael. Leonardo will need you."

Raphael came up off his knees and hugged Master Splinter once. "I will," he said, and meant it that time. He had a better perspective on things now, Splinter had given it to him, cleared up some of the nagging questions. He would sleep now. Splinter was right, as always.

Donatello _was_ going to be beat. Leonardo _was_ going to need him.

Because Shredder was still out there too.

And Raphael was going to be ready for him...

~o~

It had been a long, long night, and a longer day.

Melissa Marshall was exhausted. First it had been the crocodiles. She had a sore shin, where one of them had hit her with its tail. Her muscles ached generally...it had been some time since she'd had to wrestle a patient down.

There had been all that, and then there had been Mutant Turtles.

The shock of that had faded. Or maybe it was just that she was overtired and couldn't think it through clearly anymore.

That seemed the most likely explanation, because she had, in a moment of madness, actually allowed Megan to go with them to destinations unknown. She had run hot and cold on that, snapping at both Allan and the Turtle until Megan had finally phoned her mid-morning, to give her reassurance enough to let the fatigue through the worry.

The anxiety had kept her moving, had been enough to get the OR back into shape and the rest of the items that Megan hadn't thought to bring into the quarantine building. She had left Allan to sit with the two Turtles. Leonardo's condition had stabilized. She had him set up on the IV and was keeping him under light sedation. The heat lamps would help to keep his metabolic rate up and speed the healing process, but she didn't want him restless under the warmth. And the sleep would keep him out of pain too. He was going to ache, once he finally came back to his senses.

She had sent Allan home after that. Sent him back home to fetch another list of things that included a change or two of clothes and both of the canvas sling-back deck chairs out of the garage. A pillow or two. The coffee maker and a cooler full of food and drink. He had suggested the camera, and she had glared at him until he'd withdrawn the comment. Donatello had been keeping his head down, staying out of the way and speaking when spoken to.

Docile and polite, that one.

On the surface. They had mentioned an enemy.

Allan had made the return round trip, and she had helped him to unload the car, and then sent him away again. It might have been Sunday, and the quarantine building one on the back lot, but soon enough the pace would pick up. He had little enough business being there, and while most of the staff knew him, they would wonder at his prolonged presence. He had gone, but quite reluctantly. She had told Joel to come back to see to the crocs. She had dismissed herself when he'd arrived, and beat a retreat to the basement, locking up the small office as if she'd gone home and then she had holed up with Leonardo and Donatello behind the closed - and also locked - door of the storage room.

She was going to give into the weariness soon. Her eyelids were heavy, and the banal conversation with Donatello -as if any conversation with a turtle could be banal - was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on. The deck chair was comfortable...she had a tendency to fall asleep in it in the backyard, and the pillow made sleep all the more compelling.

Donatello was in the other chair, making positive comments about the sling back and his dorsal shell...

It was the other reason she'd asked for the chairs. No reason at all for him to have to stand around -

"Tell me again," she said after awhile. "About the glowing ooze. I think that's important here." But it was a short story, really. So she went back to the topic of the harpoon.

"It was a set trap," Donatello explained. "It was all rigged up, waiting for us. It used to be where we lived...was for a long time. Wasn't an especially nice homecoming."

"No," she agreed sleepily. "I suppose not. And what about the new place? It measures up?"

"Comfortable enough. Another abandoned maintenance facility."

He was deliberately evasive on the location. "Not giving anything away, are we?"

The Turtle shrugged. "It's been good policy."

"No doubt." She closed her eyes.

"You can sleep if you like. I'll watch Leo."

"Do that. And you wake me up if he so much as bats an eye." She pulled off her watch and tossed it to Donatello. "Three or four hours. Don't give me any longer than that. I don't care how well I seem to be sleeping. Leo's gonna need a check-up. You understand me?"

Donatello nodded. He repeated the instructions back to her.

"Fine," she murmured, shutting her eyes again. She was losing her train of thought.

"Doctor Marshall?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks for everything."

It could have been any kid off the street saying that. But most kids off the street weren't that courteous. "Uh-huh. Welcome." She let out a long sigh. "Three hours."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

And that was the last that she remembered of the conversation...

~o~

"Leonardo."

The voice speaking was very distant. "Leonardo," it repeated. And then again, more clearly, "Leonardo."

It took Leo a long time to place the voice. Familiar, but the name wouldn't take shape in his mind, which was already engaged in the far more pleasant business of trying to determine why he was lying somewhere out in the sun, and just why it was so dark if the sun was out and doing such a wonderful job of warming his limbs.

"Leonardo."

Oh. _Splinter._ It was Master Splinter. Leo blinked. He didn't feel like getting up and he said so. Or, at least, he thought he said so. He mumbled something to that effect.

"Don't move, Leonardo," another voice told him. Sounded a lot like a lady. "Just lie still."

No problem. He would just lie there until someone told him to do otherwise. That was okay. The sun was still out. He wondered who had found him the hammock. He had always wanted a hammock, but they had never found one anywhere in the sewers, and they had never exactly found the inclination to fabricate one either. He hadn't wanted one that badly.

"How do you feel, Leo?" Master Splinter asked him. He thought about it for a long time. "Leonardo?"

"Sun feels good, Master," he answered slowly. "Gonna sleep now."

"No, Leo," the lady said. "You have to wake up now."

"Have to?" he repeated, quite disappointed by that.

"Yes, Leonardo. Open your eyes for me."

He did, blinking a good many times and squinting, then found a light gray ceiling and an unfamiliar face hovering over him. "Where's the sun gone?" he asked stupidly.

"Still there, Leo. Do you feel too warm?" the lady inquired, very politely, he thought.

"No." He was drifting, spinning lazily in the still-there-sunny current. _"S'nice."_ he said.

"That's good." The lady patted his shoulder, another pleasant sensation that distracted him from the basking. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

Hurt? Why would he hurt? He thought about it for awhile. No, he didn't hurt. He felt _good_. "No," he replied, with a long sigh. "Feel real good."

"That's the sedative, Leo. Drugs. Do you hear me now? Understand me, Leo?"

"Don't do drugs," he said. "Just feel fine."

"Okay then. Move your feet for me Leo. One at a time." Obediently, he wiggled his toes. They felt very far away.

"Good. That's good Leo. I'm going to move your legs now. Don't try to help me, all right? You just lie still and tell me if it hurts. Got that, Leo?"

"Sure." He was still wiggling his toes. She hadn't said to stop. He did though, when she bent one leg up, his right one, he decided, and checked his knee, then put it back down again. Funny how far away it all felt. But far away or not, it was still more of the pleasant sensations wherever anything touched him. He liked that.

Leonardo let his head roll to one side. There was Raphael, watching him. Raph didn't look happy. Always annoyed about something, Raph was. He would have to tell him to lighten up a bit. He made another effort, rolled his head the other way. Oh, yeah. Master Splinter. He'd forgotten Splinter was there. He blinked again, repeatedly, and realized that a strange lady was playing with his feet while Master Splinter looked on.

There _was_ something rather bothersome about that. He concentrated for a minute, trying to figure that one out. The lady had picked up his other leg. Started to bend it and then -

His whole body jerked with a pain sharp enough to turn the lazy spinning into a deep and very scary whirlpool sucking him down, shattering his perceptions in a wildly rotating dazzle of bright lights and colors. He yelled, or tried to, and wasn't sure he'd made any sound at all because he couldn't breathe without bringing successive jolts of pain back to stab at him again.

Someone had him by the hand, an anchor in the whirlpool. Raph by the feel of it. Another someone was stroking his head in a steady, reassuring rhythm that meant Splinter. Splinter had always done that to calm them when they were upset. Like the time that Don had broken an arm, and Splinter had sat with him for nearly three days, rocking the small Turtle on his lap ceaselessly, until the swelling had started to go down. The rest of them had sat around Splinter's feet, envying Donatello the attention, if not the injury. Other memories seeped back, things more recent.

He _did_ hurt. He hurt so much he could hardly move for the hurt.

And just who the hell was that woman anyway?

He didn't feel fine anymore. He felt dizzy. Dizzy and nauseous, even with his eyes closed. So he opened them again. Saw Splinter and Raphael in close proximity, worry and concern etched in their features.

 _"What did Shredder do to me, Raph?"_

~o~

It was the first coherent thing that Raphael had heard Leo say since he'd begun to come around, but it did little to relieve the upset that Raph had been feeling, seeing Leo like that. So utterly helpless. Vulnerable. Sounding so very - so very _stupid_ , which he was not, under more ordinary circumstances. Leo was stuck here too. Stuck here until he healed up well enough to go home, and Raphael hadn't the faintest idea how long that was going to be.

"He got ya, Leo," Raph replied, keeping his tone light. "You sort of got yourself shot."

Leo's eyes were glassy, still full of pain, but he seemed to understand. "Clumsy," he slurred bleakly. "He use a bazooka?"

Humour. Raph couldn't believe it. "Just a little bit clumsy. And no bazooka, it was just a harpoon gun."

"That sounds like he thinks he'll live for awhile yet," Melissa Marshall commented. She moved closer, into Leo's view. "Sorry about that rude awakening, Leo," she apologized, "I was checking for nerve damage. I know that hurt some, but that's a good sign...means you're okay, at least as far as feeling things goes." She smiled down at him, and then introduced herself. "I want you to stay here with Raphael for a few minutes. Splinter and I will be right back." She looked up to Splinter, motioned him out of the room with her. _"Don't_ let him go back to sleep," she cautioned Raphael.

Raphael nodded, accepting the assignment, glad that Splinter was there to do the talking, to ask all the questions and to answer all that Melissa Marshall was still bursting with. They left, vanishing down the hall to the small office. Donatello had fallen asleep, over in the corner, exhausted from the stress and the long vigil he'd kept, staying awake the whole time, until Raph had come back with Master Splinter.

They would not leave Leo here alone. Not under any circumstances. Raph had a tentative, rotating schedule mapped out in his head, that would keep one of them free, one of them with Leonardo and the other with Megan McLaine. It wouldn't be easy to keep it, but he was counting on April and Casey to help out wherever possible, shuttling them around and cutting the travel time factor considerably.

"So, fill me in Raph. What's doin'?"

Raphael told him, but Leo kept fading out and he couldn't be sure just how much of it he really got through to him. The pain had seemed to give Leo a lot of lucidity, and now that it had eased, Leo had begun to drift again. He kept talking about going to sleep.

"Not supposed to yet, Leo." Raphael explained again. "You have to stay up for awhile."

"But why?" It was a petulant whine.

 _Leo never whined._

"Doctor said so." Raph repeated. "You're hurt, Leo. We have to listen up when she tells us what to do, just like we would for Splinter." He was wishing he had Mike's gift for gab. Raph had never exactly been a brilliant conversationalist. He wanted to distract Leo, but it was Leo that kept distracting him. That Leo was whining made his gut tighten. Leo was not at all himself.

Leo was not a pretty sight.

Raph's gaze kept going to the damaged shell, to the cracks and the incisions that Melissa Marshall had added yesterday with a bone saw, to open Leo right up...

The scene was still vivid in his mind. The sound of that saw had grated horribly, and there had been blood, when he hadn't thought Leo had had any left, everywhere. Blood and little bits and pieces of Leo scattered on the floor in the wake of the procedures that had been the only thing that had saved Leo's life at all. All that talk, quiet and professional, of nicked arteries and nerve damage and other dire things that hadn't made a lot of sense to him at the time. The harpoon had severed a loop of Leo's intestine entirely, the piece had been discarded and the ends sewed back together. Now that - _that_ had just about done Michelangelo in, and Mike had missed it when finally Leo's shell had been put back into place too, and fixed there with surgical staples and heaven only knew what else.

She said it would heal.

Would fuse back stronger than it had been before.

Raphael urgently hoped so. Right now it still looked dangerously fragile, the plate an ugly yellow-green shade rimmed with angry red darkening to black around the edges of the rough cracks and the cleaner cuts of the incisions. All of it was smeared over with an antiseptic gel, the smell of which stung his nostrils at close range. The whole thing looked as if it could be pried right open again with little more than a fingernail and an ounce of effort.

No one, _no one_ , would get the chance, not while Raphael had anything to say about it. He was sitting on a molten fury. _L_ _et Shredder beware,_ he thought, _I'm gonna take him apart for this -_

It didn't look much different than it had just - when - this morning? he wondered. It hadn't even been twenty four hours ago that the attack had come...he wasn't sure just what he'd expected, some change, some substantial improvement somewhere, but there hadn't been enough time yet. The only differences that were there were the sort he didn't really want to think about, like the tube taped onto Leo's leg that had a clear plastic sac attached to the lower end and the contents of which told him the precise location of the opposite end - his mind refused flatly any conjectures about how it had gotten there. Medical indignities. Leo would be appalled - but Leo didn't seem at all aware of it, and Raph wasn't about to tell him.

He gave Leo's hand another squeeze. "You're gonna be okay, Leo," he said. "It's just gonna take some time. Then we'll go get Shredder, you and me. We'll take him out, the both of us."

Leo's eyes were unfocused again. "Hurts, Raph," he murmured. "Hurts a lot."

"Think about something else, Leo," Raph wished him. _"Don't-"_

Easy for him to say...

Leo tried.

Raph had squeezed and patted Leo's hand to keep his attention off the hurt, but it wasn't working now. He let his fingers go to Leo's head, tried to soothe away the tension and the crease between the brows. It was sensitive skin, there across the eye ridges, for any Turtle, and if anything would distract Leonardo, it was a light fingertip across the brows.

Raphael suspected it was possible to hypnotize a Turtle that way, but it didn't detract from the pain for any more than a minute.

Leo blinked up at him again, glassy-eyed, and he tried to move -

"No, Leo!" he snapped. "You don't move, you'll...you'll - " What?! How did he know?! "You'll rip something if you're not careful," he told Leo vaguely. "You're all messed up Leo, you've got stitches and...and staples and stuff. Don't move, you just _don't_ move, okay?"

Leo was still trying, through the pain and the daze. His brows came together again and his snout quivered with the effort...if Turtles had been able to sweat, Leo would have been sweating buckets.

He considered waking Donatello, sending him down the hallway for help. He considered just shouting for it.

Raph began to hurt with him. Leo was close to whimpering and Raph didn't want to hear that - if Leonardo whimpered, the whole world would change irrevocably, somehow.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, thought to distract Leonardo that way - it wasn't likely he'd get through...he wasn't much good at it, and Leo's attention was focused elsewhere.

But if nothing else, the concentrated thoughts would bring Splinter, and Melissa Marshall with him.

~o~

Megan had phoned ahead to warn her.

But the foreknowledge hadn't done much to prepare Melissa Marshall for the reality that was Splinter...he just didn't fit the mental picture that she'd formed when Meg had called to tell her what to expect. He was an oversized Rat, yes. He was intelligent and courteous, that too. And his eyes...they were as soft and deep and brown as Meg had said, but there was a power and a wisdom there that set Melissa back a notch or two, just as the Turtles had. He was wearing a distinctly oriental-looking bathrobe or kimono or whatever they called those things.

 _Good lord,_ she thought. _A samurai Rat..._

At least he wasn't carrying any weapons, not like the Turtles -

Amazing eyes, she thought again, as she sank down into the chair behind the desk in the appropriated janitor's office. She indicated the chair opposite for Splinter.

She wondered if it hurt, sitting upright on that tail.

"So, Splinter," she began, not as awkwardly as she had thought she might have...she had accustomed herself to talking Turtles and it was only one more small step to adjust the attitude to a talking Rat. "Is there some title by which you would prefer to be addressed?"

She had heard the Turtles referring to him as 'Master' and did not wish to be discourteous herself.

It was all too new...she didn't know the rules for dealing animals that talked back. She was a vet, not an MD, and her patients were normally far more apt to bite than speak, the odd parrot being the exception.

"Splinter, will suffice," he replied. "I do not care much for titles."

He spoke with an accent, something else she found surprising. She did not ask how many languages he spoke, it was enough to swallow that he spoke at all. "Alright, then. Splinter," she nodded. "I have been led to believe you are responsible for these Turtles."

His head tilted quizzically and he blinked. "Mostly, these days, they are responsible for themselves. But I have taken care of them for many years. They are my family."

Odd notion. Odd Turtles. Odd Rat. _Why am I taking all this so calmly,_ she wondered. _They've got my daughter somewhere..._

"My daughter," she responded. "Is my family."

"She is very remarkable," Splinter said. "And she is in no danger from us. I was quite surprised to see her with the Turtles when they came home. She is not a...a _hostage_ , if that is what she wanted you to believe."

"Yes, I understand that it was her idea. I would like her back. I could use her help, for the next little while."

"I am not sure she will come. She feels that your husband is-"

She interrupted the explanation. "She seems to feel that he's a problem. Megan has felt that way for some time and I haven't been able to dissuade her of the belief. She exaggerates, sometimes."

Another tilt of the head, and a long searching gaze. This Rat was looking for something...

"I have spoken to my husband," she said. "I've told him that I don't want to deal with the nightmare that going public with your discovery would invite. The magnitude of it staggers me, every time I think about it. I'm convinced he has as much good sense, whatever my daughter may have said to the contrary. They don't get along."

"Yes, she said as much," Splinter said. "I will talk to her, and have her phone you again, if you think that will help."

"Please do," she answered. "Although it's not easy to change that girl's mind once she's made it up. Megan is rather strong-willed."

"Yes," Splinter agreed with her again, understanding written there in his eyes. "I gathered that, speaking with her. She has the courage of her convictions as well. There are not many who venture into the sewers willingly. You have raised her well."

"Her father had a great deal to do with that," Melissa said, softly, not having expected to hear that sort of thing from this strange creature, even though it was true enough. "Thank you. But we are here to discuss Leonardo, not Megan. He's suffered an extremely serious injury."

She had watched, when Splinter had first seen Leo, how his ears had gone down, how he had blinked and his whiskers had drawn back. Megan and the other two Turtles had no doubt described the injury, but he had been affected by the scope of it anyway, once it was there to see, right under his nose. Meg had been right. Splinter _cared._

"Leonardo is still in critical condition. I want you to understand that. He's not going anywhere, not for at least ten days. Donatello kept asking, and I think I can understand your concerns for security. Leo was in good health. I expect he's got good recuperative powers. Nonetheless, he's fortunate to still be with us. We almost lost him."

She went on, detailing the internal injuries and outlining the course of treatment she was planning to administer. "Please believe me, I'm not trying to keep Leo here any longer than necessary. I want you to understand the true extent of the injury." Megan had probably been optimistic while describing Leo's condition. She was not sure her daughter understood just how close Leo had come. Meg knew a lot, but she didn't know it all, not by a long shot. "The harpoon did serious damage."

"Yes. I saw that. Our enemy is cruel." Splinter said then. "I must thank you, as I did Megan. We owe you Leonardo's life." He paused, again searching her features. "We are in your debt. How can-"

She cut him off right there. "I'm not interested in money, wealth, glory or fame." She had no idea what resources these creatures had to tap, and she doubted they extended to any of the named categories. "Donatello told me about how you found them, crawling around covered with glowing ooze. I'd like to hear more about that."

Melissa sat back and listened, as Splinter told the same tale that Donatello had. It didn't take long. They didn't seem to have many details to repeat.

"I'm very interested in this glowing ooze," she said, when he had finished. "This - broken canister - that you say was leaking the stuff...do you suppose it would still be there?"

He thought about it. "Things do not usually go far, in the sewers. But it has been a long time, sixteen years. I do not know. I remember where it was. Would you like us to find it for you?"

"If you can find it for me, we'll call the debt clear. I want to know just _how_ you happened, and I haven't come up with a reasonable explanation yet. Any clues would be welcome."

The brown eyes blinked. "We will find it."

"All right then. We're done here, in that case. I don't want Leonardo to stress himself." She rose up out of the chair and headed for the door. "Come and visit for a bit before I put him back under again."

"Doctor Marshall." Splinter said.

She turned. He hadn't moved.

"Please sit back down." His voice was compellingly serious now.

Melissa Marshall returned to her chair and sat in it.

"You have not asked me about the enemy responsible for Leonardo's condition," he told her mildly.

"Donatello..." she stopped cold, thinking on that statement. It was true. She hadn't asked. "Donatello said it was a set trap."

"Yes." Splinter nodded. "But our enemy will not be content with that. The trap was only a starting point."

"You're expecting more of them?"

"Such traps specifically, no. But search, yes. Now that the trap has been sprung, there may very well be pursuit. Absolute secrecy is of paramount concern. We do not fear only the media."

"How - how do you know?"

"I do not. I do not know. I can only guess at what may now transpire. But our resources are limited. Our numbers are few. The Turtles are here not only to protect Leonardo, but to guard your back as well."

She didn't know what to say. She hardly knew what to think. Splinter was talking about _danger_. She hadn't even considered that _danger_ might be a factor.

"Tell me about this enemy." She was suddenly appalled by her own disinterest in the motivation behind the attack that Leonardo had suffered. She had been too distracted by the Turtles themselves, and her subsequent concern for Megan when she'd gone off with them.

Leonardo had been viciously _attacked_. It had been an act of deliberate and premeditated violence.

The story was almost as bizarre as Splinter and the Turtles were. All about some Japanese warlord named Shredder. There was murder and attempted murder. She had noticed Splinter's damaged ear, and thought nothing of it...she saw animals mangled in their own primal scuffles all the time. The tale was all about assassins and master criminals.

Only it wasn't just a tale. It was a history of actual events.

She might not have believed any of it, but there was a four foot, mutant, talking Rat recounting those events, and an injured mutant Turtle just down the hallway that she had put back together herself. She had to believe it.

"You have a suggestion?" Melissa asked, when he had finished.

"We will do what we can to protect you. It may not even be necessary, but I prefer to be cautious. Can you arrange to stay here, on the premises?"

She thought about it. Probably. Allan could bring her things from home. There was a washroom with a shower, just down the hall across from Leo's storage room. She could get a cot. She was working long and irregular hours anyway, so the staff wouldn't be a problem.

"Yes, I think so." In fact, it would be quite easy, the more she thought about it. "Yes. I can," she said, at length. "If I have to."

"I do not make the suggestion lightly. Doctor Marshall, I hope I am wrong. But it is wise to be prepared."

Any Boy Scout knew that. She could hardly argue it. "Then we'll take precautions. And if that's all, I'd like to get back to Leonardo now."

Splinter stood, and reached across the desk to pat her hand. "Your daughter also has sense." Splinter said. "I see now where she gets it."

"Thank you," Melissa replied slowly. Maybe, just maybe, Meg was safer staying put in the sewers...and that was what she was thinking when Splinter's ears canted forward, and his head turned.

"We must go now," he said then. "Leonardo is in need of us."

She decided it must have been keen hearing. Splinter had been right - Leonardo was in quite a great deal of distress when they arrived and Melissa cursed herself for leaving it so long...she could have listened to his stories after -

"No, please..." Splinter said, stopping her before she had a chance to get some sedative into the IV shunt. "Doctor Marshall, I would like a moment with Leo alone."

An objection rose in her throat, but she held it - Splinter had laid one hand on Leo's head with a concentrated expression and Leo had calmed almost immediately, closing his eyes with a shallow sigh.

"He's in pain," she said.

"Ten minutes." Splinter asked.

She hesitated. Then she laid a hand of her own on Leo's head. "Leo? It's up to you. Just a few minutes with Splinter. Is that what you want?"

"Be okay," Leo slurred the words. "It's Splinter - "

Raphael had roused Donatello out of sleep and was pushing him toward the door. Those two Turtles waited for her just outside the threshold. She could take the hint and moved to follow them.

"Ten minutes," she conceded. "And I'll be back."

Leonardo was not a patient she was prepared to take risks with -

~o~

Once, Casey Jones had had a friend with a pet caiman.

And, at the time, he'd been intensely jealous of the fact. His own mother would never even hear the idea of such a pet whispered in the house. His father had been more tolerant, and there had been a tank full of garden-variety reptiles and amphibians out in the garage for a number of consecutive summers.

The caiman had impressed him then. He recalled it as a neat little alligator. These ones here he also thought were neat enough, though _little_ wasn't a term that applied. It had been years since he'd been near a zoo.

He'd been worried, ever since April had called him early that morning. It hadn't been a reason he'd have preferred to have had behind the call, but the Turtles were his friends, and he'd been happy enough to help them out by running transit with the old truck. April had practically given the thing to him, having no real use for it herself, and he had room enough to store it at the arena. It had just taken a few dollars to have the outdated ownership transferred and his licence renewed. He didn't use the truck often, but it was coming in real handy now, ferrying mutants around in the back, cleverly disguised under an old tarpaulin.

Casey had actually been surprised to hear that it had been Leo who'd been hurt - Leonardo was the careful one, followed a close second by Donatello. Michelangelo didn't always pay attention, and this was far more the sort of thing Casey might have expected Mike to fall victim to. Or Raphael, because Raphael always walked right into trouble, though it was usually with both eyes open. Casey had not found it easy, to go down there into the basement and have a look in on Leo...but the state he'd found Leo in had almost made him forget his claustrophobia -the Foot had really messed him up, far worse than they had messed Raph up last year -

Leonardo was lucky just to be alive.

Casey was contemplating potential reprisals, exercising his imagination. He knew that one day, he would be running into The Foot again. He'd spent quite a lot of time thinking about it for the past few months. He did not want April trying to cross paths with them first...

Casey Jones worried about April. Even from a distance.

Splinter and Raph had been waiting for him - on time because Splinter always was - in the nearest convenient alley to home. Raphael had jumped in the back and Splinter had gotten into the front seat, complimenting him on the truck's new paint job...even Casey had felt the original finish was pretty disreputable. He had a friend with an auto body shop and he had recently done it over in a deep royal blue. In the fall he thought he might just have the chrome re-worked and the upholstery looked at. It was an on-going project, and Splinter, ever polite, had asked him about how it was going, before he got to the subject of Leonardo's injury, the present situation and just what they were going to do about it. That depended in turn on just what the Doctor had to say when they got there.

Splinter had joined Raphael prior to the security gate. Casey had been motioned through without any questions being asked...Doctor Marshall had told them she was expecting visitors, and it didn't seem to matter to the guard who exactly or why they might be dropping in after hours. But this was the zoo, not a military installation and things were a little more relaxed than he might otherwise have expected. He hadn't complained. He would have been hard-pressed to come up with an explanation for the passengers under the tarp.

He had stayed downstairs long enough to see and be further assured that Leonardo was going to be all right, and he had then excused himself and come up here to the gallery to idle the time away while Splinter ironed things out. The alligators had provided distraction enough for the first forty minutes, but he was getting bored with them now...they weren't _doing_ anything, just lying there, probably bored themselves. He had been wondering if he should just go back downstairs and check things out again when Raphael and Donatello had appeared in the narrow hallway leading to the gallery with Doctor Marshall in tow.

"Splinter wanted to see Leo alone," Raph explained, before he asked.

"He only has ten minutes," Melissa Marshall added, with a quick glance down to her wristwatch.

"I'm tired." Donatello complained. "Where's the truck?" It was all Donatello wanted to know.

Casey told him and Donatello went back the way he'd come, ready to bed down anywhere, even under that rotting tarpaulin.

"Okay..." Casey didn't have a problem with any of that. He shrugged agreeably and went back to leaning on the railing of the balcony over the alligator pool. "Like your alligators," he told the Doctor amiably.

"Crocodiles," she corrected him. "They don't have alligators in Africa."

"Oh. So how come they're here all by themselves? Kind of a big tub just for them, isn't it?"

She smiled back at him. "Yeah, actually it is...but it was all that was available when they arrived. Quarantine. They're sick."

"That's why they're not swimmin'?" Casey had been disappointed by the inactivity...he might even have gone down to that underground corridor to have a look at them from below if they had been.

"Partly. We don't really want them swimming...they've got a fungal infection. We need to keep their skins dry 'til that clears up."

"So what's stopping them from getting wet anyway?" Raphael asked then. "I don't suppose a 'stay' command would keep them for long."

"Of course not...these are wild ones. No, it's the water. We keep it brackish. These are freshwater crocs...they don't like the salt too much. If they were feeling better they probably wouldn't mind a dip, but they only just came in yesterday and they're still unsettled over the travel. They'll perk up in a few days. And if they do take a dip, the salt will help keep the infection down too."

"They itch?" Casey had never thought about crocodiles catching athlete's foot.

"You bet. Makes 'em mean. They were a handful, those three."

"Catching?" Raphael asked, out of curiosity.

The Doctor looked him up and down. "For reptiles. I wouldn't recommend you take a bath with them, anyway."

"Nah. Don't like saltwater either," Raph told her, shaking his head. "We're freshwater Turtles."

"I'll take your word for that." She consulted her watch again. The ten minutes wasn't quite up yet.

Casey went back to watching for another moment...there was a lot more to keeping these things than there ever had been to keeping that little caiman. "So what do they eat?" The caiman had liked raw meat.

Doctor Marshall smiled again. "Whatever they can catch. Nile crocs are notorious man-eaters. But they'll go for whatever gets close enough, fish usually. Sometimes cattle or goats or antelope. Whatever comes to the river to drink. Depends just where they live, I suppose."

"They usually get that big?" Casey was awed by the biggest one, just for size and mass. He could believe that one could take a cow down.

"Impressive, that one is. Old. Canny, for a croc. They have to be or they don't live long enough to get that big." Melissa checked the time. "My turn with Leo," she announced, looking to Raph. "You can give me ten, now. I'll send Splinter up. Nice to have met you, Mr. Jones."

"My pleasure," Casey replied, and shook the Doctor's hand when she offered it. "Bet I'll be back."

"Just make sure you call first. I'll have to invent a story to explain you to security unless you're going to start sneaking in through the storm drains."

That really wasn't a bad idea. It would have to be an inventive story for sure, if he was going to be making nightly trips out here to visit with Leonardo. Casey wondered how she was going to explain her own continued night-long presence. He was certain that the zoo didn't require twenty-four hour shifts from their employees.

It was only a few minutes later that Splinter found them, still chatting about the crocodiles. The Turtles didn't get to the zoo very often either. Splinter had dressed for the occasion - was wearing the kimono-thing that April had given to him last Christmas. It was still in brand-new condition. He must only use it on special occasions, Casey decided. It was too classy, for day-to-day sewer wear.

The old Rat was wearing a very thoughtful expression when he showed up too, one that Raphael questioned almost immediately, in case it was about Leonardo.

"Leonardo is in very good hands," Splinter had assessed. "He will be all right, but we must still do whatever we can to insure that his presence here remains a secret. We must all be very careful."

"Well, what then? What's up?" Raphael had not been satisfied with the answer. The Turtles knew Splinter too well.

Splinter's nose twitched. "Doctor Marshall has asked us for something," he replied with a tiny shrug. "We have," he added mysteriously, "a mission-"

~o~


	6. True Forces - Chapter 4

**True Forces Chapter Four**

It was more travelling than Splinter had done in a long while, and it was telling on the old Rat, too obviously, Donatello thought as he slogged along through the muddy sewer behind their Master. Splinter, however, had been insistent and so here they were, on their way back to the old den for the second time in just three days.

That first visit had been a fiasco.

Donatello really didn't want to go back and he wasn't sure he understood why Splinter thought it was so important - their Master wasn't into pinning blame, not even in something like this. Besides, they knew, all of them, right where the blame landed anyway and that was dead square on the shells of a bunch of careless and overconfident Turtles, Leo included, for all that he had warned them to be cautious.

 _Shredhead's probably got the place bugged or something -_

Or something.

Oh yeah. Something _real_ nasty.

Donatello was already hearing that phrase repeatedly in his dreams. That was likely what Splinter was up to on this particular outing. He was going to check out the scene of the crime and issue some sort of statement to absolve them of the guilt they were all feeling before it became an all-consuming obsession.

He knew that Raphael was agonizing about Leo. So was Michelangelo, but not to the same degree that Raph was. Mike was upset, but they had a handle on the situation and that was good enough to allay most of his anxieties. Raphael, however, had a way of taking things to extremes. He and Leo were close, and had been ever since last summer, after the bathtub...

Donatello kept his bo up and in a defensive position. His own agonizing had consisted of vivid imaginings about the sorts of other traps that Shredder might or might not have laid for them elsewhere/anywhere/everywhere here in the sewers. It had come to him belatedly that the old den might well have been electronically bugged in addition to being booby trapped. The harpoon gun could have been rigged to alert Shredder and company whenever it was tripped. There could have been audio or even video bugs. There _could_ have been a lot of things, like a follow-up visit and another trap set.

Then again, things could have been worse too...Shredder might have opted for an automated submachine gun or an incendiary bomb or poison gas. He could have -

 _I think too much..._

Donatello's grip on the bo tightened. He had a sudden overwhelming desire to get to the old den and check out the possibilities. Shredder _did_ want them dead. Eventually. But he wanted to hurt them first and he wanted them to know who was responsible, or he wouldn't have been wasting the ornate headbands, leaving them behind as calling cards. He decided right then that even if he didn't understand Splinter's reason for the visit, he had a few damned good ones of his own.

April and Megan were still trailing behind them, gear in hand, both the metal detector and the Geiger counter that April had rented at Splinter's request, the two of them talking from time to time about the necessity for the long route, even though April could have parked her van much closer to their last fixed address than they had eventually elected to. There had never been any evidence, but they knew April was tailed. Shredder would never have let such an obvious link to them go without surveillance. Donatello checked her van regularly for tracking devices and he just never knew if he caught all the possibilities or not. Shredder was no slacker, and he had resources at his beck and call that they could never, ever hope to match. Don was getting very tired of having to work around the things that Shredder _might_ do. There was an enormous unfairness about it for which there was no remedy at all. Donatello seldom got angry-truly angry, that was, the way Raphael got all the time-but he was beginning to feel the heat rising on the slow burn Shredder had ignited when Leo had gone down.

They had reached one of the main junctions. They were getting close now, and Splinter paused, giving the women a chance to close the distance.

"Let me go first now, Master," Donatello said, scanning the tunnel they would take next. "We'll be there soon...I don't want any more accidents."

Splinter nodded once, letting him into the lead. Then, in his usual, quiet voice, he went right to the point. "What happened to Leonardo was not an accident, Donatello," he said calmly. "Accidents are usually avoidable."

Don opened his mouth, then shut it again without speaking. _So was this,_ he thought silently. _If we'd been paying more attention._

"We shall see if this was avoidable or not," Splinter continued, in that uncanny way he had of reading precisely what was on any Turtle's mind. "You will reset the trap, and we will test it." From beneath his robe, he drew out the harpoon that Shredder had left for them to find.

"Yes, Master Splinter," Donatello agreed quietly. "We'll find out." He was very determined to find out...

And they did.

When they reached the doorway of the old den, Donatello very cautiously pushed the door open with one end of the bo. If, in fact, The Foot had been back, they obviously had not reset the trap. At least, not the same one. Wary still, Don entered the den with extreme caution, his senses alert, and gave the whole place a quick once-over before he told the others it was all right to come in.

"Seems okay," he said. "But watch out anyway."

Splinter's whiskers were twitching, as he took a moment to cast his glance around the den. It had deteriorated quickly, as things usually did in the sewers, but there were memories here, more for Splinter than there were for the Turtles, as they had only vague recollections of the earlier years spent here. Then Splinter's eyes found the harpoon gun, tucked into a shadowy recess, and he crossed over to it.

It was a stock-standard item, something that could be found in any number of sporting goods stores. But it had been modified, and the mechanical advantages that the tampering had given the weapon made it lethal far beyond what the average diver would ever have need of. It was a simple device, really, and Donatello had no trouble figuring it out, loading it and resetting the trip line. He made sure the aim was true, told everyone to stand clear, and used the far end of his bo to trigger the device.

He heard it again, that low noise, the hiss of air, and one of the boards in the door to the den shattered as the harpoon struck and passed right through it to hit the stone wall of the sewer outside and opposite. He heard it clatter into the gutter and opened the damaged door to retrieve it.

Fast. Oh, but that had been _fast._

Splinter examined the damages. "Again, please, Donatello," he asked quietly.

Don set it up again, and handed the bo to Splinter when Splinter asked him for it. This time, Splinter tripped the line, and made one of those lightning moves that Don knew him capable of, trying to intercept the harpoon...

He missed it. The weapon, true on the mark, for the gun itself had been bolted into place, passed through the shattered board on the same trajectory the second time, and hit the sewer wall again. Splinter shook his head sadly. "Oroku Saki is cruel," he murmured. "This was meant to kill one of you." He recovered the harpoon again, examining the tip, which had lost its point in the repeated collisions with the stone wall. "The power in this is excessive."

"He overreached." Megan said in response.

April and Megan had watched without comment, as they'd run through the tests, a mixture of horror and fascination about the whole business. Now everyone turned to look at the girl.

"He overreached," she repeated. "That's what saved Leo."

"Pardon me?" April said.

"Too much force." Megan walked over and took the harpoon from Splinter's hands. "It had enough momentum to go right through both Leo's shells, front and back. It became fixed, stuck at either end." She held up her hands, the harpoon held between index and middle finger of each one, as representations of Leo's shell. "Once it was lodged there, it couldn't move. It prevented further damage. If it hadn't gone through, these barbs would have been able to rotate, like this..." she let the tip go, pivoted the harpoon between the remaining fingers. "Leo would have been mincemeat. Nothing would have saved him. He'd have bled to death in a couple of minutes."

There was silence.

Megan handed the harpoon back. "He was lucky. Another inch or two the other way would have severed his spine. He might have survived that, but..." she let her voice trail off. "I'm sorry. I'm being morbid." She looked away, regretting she'd brought it up.

"No," Splinter corrected her. "You are being truthful. Leonardo was fortunate. We have all been fortunate that Shredder does not know us better, or he may not have overreached, as you have said. He is cruel, and vengeful, and is playing elaborate games, when there are simpler, more effective methods he could use to achieve his goals. This-" he held up the harpoon, "-is completely unnecessary."

"He could have taken us all out with a bomb." Donatello said, voicing one theory. "Master Splinter's right. He's playing games." Don didn't like the game, but they were caught in it. "He knows where April is all the time. We think. He knows a lot of ways that he could get to us, through April. We have to be real careful. We're going to have to be even more careful now that we know he's actively out for us again."

Megan's eyes went to April.

"I've got to stay away from the zoo," April said. "I wouldn't want them to tail me there."

"What about that first night?" Megan wasn't slow. "What if..."

"We're hoping they didn't notice. We keep April's van checked for tracking devices. We've never found any. We're careful." Don told her again. "We're taking care of your mother too. That's why we want her to stay there as much as possible."

"I have discussed the hazard with her." Splinter said. "She is aware of it."

Megan looked from Donatello to Splinter and back again. Don could see that she was realizing now, just what the possibilities were.

"Oh," she said quietly. "As long as she knows..."

"We would not have her ignorant of the danger," Splinter added. "She has helped us, more than we can ever possibly thank her for. We would not willingly expose her to our enemy."

Donatello watched as she nodded. There really wasn't much she could say about it, if her mother knew, and Splinter and the Turtles were going to do what they could to keep the status quo.

April reached over and patted her shoulder. "Wouldn't worry too much," she said. "You get used to it." She spoke lightly, readjusting the shoulder strap on the metal detector slung across her back. "So when do we get to use this stuff?" April asked, changing the topic. "I thought we were on a treasure hunt today?"

Donatello looked to Splinter, who nodded.

"We are," Don confirmed. "Master?"

Splinter twitched his nose at them. "Follow me and we will see whether or not we can find the buried treasure then. But I do not believe that there will be an X to mark the spot..."

~o~

There was no X, just as Splinter had predicted. April O'Neil straightened, and came up off her knees with a gardening trowel in hand and black sludge coating the thick gloves she'd brought along with all of the tools.

The center gutter in this particular tunnel was deeper than she'd thought, and it was the black sludge all the way down to the beer can she'd uncovered. They had dug up a number of metallic items, none of which had fit the bill for the Mystery Ooze Can.

Donatello was sweeping the tunnel a block further along, using the Geiger counter, looking for traces of radioactivity. Splinter recalled the warning symbol from the side of the can. The ooze, they'd said many times, had _glowed._

Splinter had nosed topside, peering cautiously out a number of sewer grates, and confirmed his bearings. He assured them they were in the proper neighbourhood.

But it had been sixteen years. A long time to expect a piece of garbage to remain in the neighbourhood. Donatello was searching downstream...it was possible the canister could have been shifted considerably in times of flash flooding. Nonetheless, Don had been optimistic. If it had been a container with radioactive material in it, probably it was lead lined, and heavy.

Even flash flooding wouldn't have taken it very far, he'd surmised. Besides that, it was probably full of the black sludge, just like all the beer cans, and buried in the sewer sediment.

Donatello really seemed to enjoy mining sewer sediment.

It was true though, that they _had_ collected more valuable things that way, over the years. April had seen the old shoe box that Splinter kept, the one with the gold and the jewellery that the Turtles had salvaged...

All she'd found were beer cans and a few coins.

She was getting hungry.

The thought of dining in the sewers themselves, however, as opposed to the nominally liveable places the Turtles called home, had a way of killing her appetite. She had packed some sandwiches, but one look at the black stuff had put her off opening the package, in spite of the gloves. She would look at it as a diet.

A loud whoop from Don diverted her attention.

"Got something!" he yelled. "April - gimme the metal detector, quick!" He sounded very excited.

They all crowded around him. Megan was holding the flashlight, sweeping the area he indicated with the wand of the Geiger counter. There was nothing to be seen from the surface. He took the metal detector, passed it over the same area. Got a strong reading.

"Hey. Hey wait a second. How much radiation are we talking about here?" April was not an alarmist, but she knew enough about radioactivity to warrant a bit of caution.

The ooze had done good things for rats and turtles, but she wasn't anxious to find out what it might do for _her..._

"Not much. Just a little above background. See here - the meter goes up a couple of points and then back to normal. It's right around here. It's a small, but definite increase. Not even close to the amber or red zones."

April handed him the trowel. "Go for it," she told him, and he began to dig enthusiastically. Megan kept the light steady, and Splinter came to add his to it.

It only took Don a minute or two. His fingers found a hard casing under seven inches of the sediment. Another minute or two, and he had freed it enough to pull it out. It left the sludge-bed with a loud sucking noise, and came up leaking the dark mud instead of glowing ooze.

Donatello wiped at the object, clearing grime away.

It _was_ what they'd been looking for! It really was!

Don uncovered the Radioactive Material warning. And on the other side, he found something else, another symbol that had not been so well recognized sixteen years ago. It was a barbed trefoil. That and the words BIOHAZARDOUS MATERIAL, in the same block letters of the radiation warning. There was small print too, most of it completely illegible under the muck.

"This was somebody's gene splicing experiment," Megan guessed. "Bet on it. Wonder how it got down here? This stuff is always kept under lock and key."

"Stolen? Covered up?" April suggested. "If there's enough information, I can check the archives at the station, see if there was anything reported back then."

"So let's go clean it up!" Donatello was handling the canister carefully, almost reverently. Splinter too, was looking at it with something that approached awe.

April watched them quietly, wondering exactly what was going through their minds...they owed their very existence to the material that had once been contained inside the casing. Maybe the Turtles had been a part of the experiment, and been stolen along with the thing -

She thought about it.

Radiation caused mutations, usually lethal ones. Gene splicing, Megan had guessed, and seemed to know a few things about molecular biology.

 _Someone_ had figured out how to put the two together, and get something viable out the other end.

Splinter and the Turtles had _happened_ outside of a laboratory, under conditions that could hardly be called controlled.

And they had _worked._

If the someone responsible for the experiment had known it would succeed, then he/she/they could have named their price, anywhere, from any government or other organization - legal or otherwise - willing to pay for such a commodity. She was a crime reporter. She knew that sort of covert thinking actually went on out there. There was a story here...her imagination was running in full gear now. April found herself growing excited.

This was a mystery she might be able to solve! There would be information here, a place to start. She could access the station's database and archives, could network further if she had to. There would be something -

And just maybe, if she was very clever about it, she might even be able to work a story out of it all.

~o~

The canister wasn't much bigger around than a pop can, but it was about three inches longer and a great deal heavier. It was, at the moment, lying at the bottom of a sinkful of water in the stained white enamel work basin in the janitorial closet, a very cramped and rather poorly ventilated space with two naked light bulbs to provide illumination.

Melissa Marshall had deposited the canister in the sink, carefully, with both hands well encased in heavy plastic surgical gloves, a precaution that was primarily psychological - if the contents had still been highly radioactive, plastic gloves would have been incredibly useless as a protective measure.

The Geiger counter that Megan had brought along had satisfied most of her questions in that area. That the canister also bore that biohazard warning had rattled her more. Any real danger from that had to be long gone though, she'd surmised, or there just might have been a lot of far more interesting things than the Turtles and their friend Rat climbing out of the storm drains and there would have been all along.

Besides, she had asked for it - had specifically requested that this thing be brought to her if at all possible, and she could hardly do less with it than had those who'd retrieved it without any more precaution and a good deal less hesitation.

She had not actually expected that they would find it, and had been astounded when Donatello and Splinter had turned up that afternoon - she had yet to figure out how they'd gotten in here in broad daylight - to place the object on her desk with what had struck her, almost, as smug self-satisfaction.

They had all stopped in, even Megan, who was looking well enough. Most of Melissa's initial fears about her daughter's insane decision to go sewer-crawling had faded as she'd gotten to know the Turtles better. She hadn't decided that they were harmless, no, not that at all, but she had decided that they knew at least who their friends were. Megan phoned her twice a day, and did seem to be enjoying the company.

Leonardo was still under sedation. She didn't want him coming to only to be bored out his skull by lying there, trying to stay still for the time it would take for the injuries to heal. If Melissa had ascertained anything of these mutant creatures, it was that they were as inquisitive as they were intelligent, and mostly incapable of sitting still for any extended periods of time.

Leonardo was healing up well too, she was pleased to be able to report when Splinter had asked. Already his shell was starting to scar over, the finer cracks starting to fuse back together. His blood pressure was up, closer to normal, although his red and white cell counts were still out of line. He was out of immediate danger and that bit of news had pleased them all, and elicited another outpouring of gratitude.

She had taken a few moments to corner Splinter and had subjected him to a series of vaccinations and vitamin shots before she'd sent him packing with the rest, kicking them all out and getting back to her own work, wanting to get it done and out of the way so that she could get into looking at the canister they'd brought.

She was ready to do that now, had left it to soak, loosening the worst of the grime. Melissa wiped at the surface carefully, trying not to take off any of the fine print. She had a pen and paper handy, ready to jot down any discernable information. She collected data. Data that turned out to be rather scarce, once she was finished.

She wanted to get the cap off, couldn't get the lid to budge even a fraction of an inch. No doubt it was badly corroded from the inside.

Some of the black sludge had leaked out to discolour the water in the sink, and the contents sloshed now. Still, it would take some time to get the stuff out if she was going to wait for it to leak out the damaged face of the thing.

The side of the canister had been punctured, as if someone had struck it with the sharp end of a screwdriver. She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to do that deliberately to a container with something radioactive/biohazardous on the inside. It seemed an unlikely accident unless - well, a bullet just might have made such a puncture too...

April O'Neil had suggested that the canister might have been stolen. She had found the name of the originating laboratory in the fine print. It wasn't a name she knew, but that didn't mean a thing.

The radioactive portion of the substance had been a rare isotope of phosphorous, something she guessed had a short half-life. She assumed. She did have some reading up to do, that much was for certain.

There were a lot of pieces to this particular puzzle missing...the fine print had not told her very much. It was mostly illegible anyway and it had been further marred by what had once been a vividly colored vinyl sticker. Great patches of that were also missing, but she finally came to the conclusion that the sticker had once said CONTAMINATED. It was another scrap of knowledge that raised more questions than it answered...contaminated how? Radioactively? Chemically? Biologically? And who would want to steal a contaminated sample of any substance? If, in fact, it _had_ been contaminated, and the sticker not just some sort of a ruse or marker to identify the proper canister to steal, if indeed there had been some sort of conspiracy involved.

She didn't really have the facilities to do a proper job of researching the thing out either. She could probably work around that, one way or another, but then there would be questions that she wouldn't be able to answer satisfactorily...someone would want to know where she'd come by the canister in the first place, and that would open other avenues of inquiry that would lead into the sewers and compromise what safety the Turtles and Splinter possessed down there.

Going public was simply out of the question entirely, that was all. Allan kept hinting at it, was starting to get insistent and on her nerves. He didn't like playing the errand-boy, and had left in a subdued huff a few hours ago when he'd dropped in.

She was going to have to speak to him, try to reason all the Discovery-of-the-Century nonsense out of his head. She _needed_ him to do those errands, under the circumstances, and she was beginning to resent the fact that he was resenting it himself.

Melissa leaned back in her chair to rub her eyes. It had been a long day and she'd spent more time than she'd thought wrapped up in the project that the canister had become.

She had promised herself a decent night's rest, insofar as that was possible with the cot and a sleeping bag, and decided it was just about time for that.

But first she shuffled through the paperwork on the desktop until she found April's business card. She dailed the numbers on it until she finally caught April working late at Channel Three. It didn't take too long to fill Miss O'Neil in, once she'd assured her that it wasn't an emergency she was calling about.

"Well, April..." she'd finally asked, "... just how would you like to do a little bit of investigative reporting for me? Grab yourself a pen..."

~o~

It was, Allan Marshall had decided, the opportunity of a _lifetime._ And his hands were tied -

Mel had just kicked him out again, had thanked him absently for the fast food delivery he'd just made, had shown him the canister that she had acquired that afternoon and then told him to go home, as if it was all _nothing at all_...

He had scarcely had a decent look at these mutant Turtles, not since he'd first walked into the OR uninvited...and he'd been so stunned by it at the time that he hadn't made a single proper scientific observation of the creatures.

Now, no one would let him.

His blood pressure was going erratic with the whole thing.

He was feeling both unbridled excitement and acute frustration, bordering from time to time on extreme anger. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It wasn't at all _just_...he was the herpetologist, the one that the zoo called when they ran into questions that they couldn't answer themselves. Mel wouldn't let him in on this...Mel, his very own wife, wouldn't let him in on these mutant Turtles.

Megan had sabotaged it for him, right from the start.

It was spite. Nothing but spite...he had apologized to the girl, had tried to explain that he hadn't meant any harm, had just lost his temper and she had nodded at the time, as if she had understood...

He did not trust the girl. Did not understand the girl.

He was, in short, quite afraid of Megan McLaine, because she had him cornered, could ruin his marriage and his career, could ruin his _life_ if she were to do nothing more than peel her shirt off in the wrong company.

He suspected she already had.

The mutants _knew_.

He had stuck his head through the door of the storage room, had needed to get another look at the creatures, had wanted to talk to them, to make some of those scientific observations that he had so far been denied. He had thought he might just ask the one that was there its name, had thought he'd just chat it up a bit and make himself a friendly presence...but the Turtle in the red mask had transfixed him with a hostile, malicious stare and said absolutely nothing in response to his tentative hello. That one wasn't friendly, not like Donatello had been the other morning.

Allan had simply closed the door and gone, like Mel had told him to - _that_ Turtle frightened him. He could recognize a dangerous reptile when he saw one, and that one was not only bigger than most, but brighter too...there had never been a reptile in all his experience that could stare him down.

He had wandered the zoo, had been too restless to go home, did not want to find out that Devon was inexplicably absent again. He trailed along after a preschool tour, thinking about how he'd been able to out-think his kids once too. He was scowling intermittently, because right now he could not think of a way to get around Megan's machinations.

He really had apologized. Had really meant it, had been aghast at his own behaviour...he'd broken things before, but had only ever hit someone once-and Lisa had left him then and taken Kelsey with her...

He'd sworn that it wouldn't happen again, had actually been grateful that Megan hadn't ever breathed a word of it to Mel-

-Mel would kill if she knew-

He did not want to lose Mel. He'd lost her once before, years ago, to Jim McLaine...

Maybe, he thought, maybe it was the medication...he would have to check into that. When he lost his temper these days he lost it altogether. There was only blind rage and the moment. Megan had just ignored him the other day and that had been enough to set him off - there had been that belt lying over the back of the chair by the laundry and he'd -

Why then? he had to wonder. Why just then, right before these Turtles had to come along?!

 _The opportunity of a lifetime..._

He wanted to know more about that canister...a find in itself, that object. He wanted to know more about these Turtles, and who was better qualified than he was to do it? He and Mel between them could document and present this thing to the world. He wanted to do the paper on these creatures. This was - this was Nobel prize material, that was what this was, something that would set the entire scientific community right on its ear -

This was the frontier...

His pulse was racing again.

This whole thing was not good for his health.

It was all so very incredible!

 _And my hands are tied!_

The resentment began to build as he walked back to the parking lot, pulling keys from his pocket.

He unlocked the driver's door absently, slid in behind the wheel. He was swearing inaudibly under his breath.

And then things happened so suddenly he didn't even have time enough to react -

Something all black and human shaped sat up from behind him in the back seat, a heart stopping motion in the rear view mirror that left his pulse pounding.

The passenger door to his right opened in the same instant, and another black-clad figure got in...he hadn't even noticed that the driver's door had been the only one left locked, and he always locked them all.

It had been set up. _His_ door left locked so as not to arouse any suspicions.

The uppermost thought in his mind was that he was about to be mugged in his own car -

But the first of the two figures spoke. "Professor Marshall," that one said, and he knew right then that it was no mugging...those mutant Turtles had enemies, Mel had told him. Real, live enemies, that didn't disdain to use harpoons in their daily business.

 _The Japanese mob,_ she'd said.

His blood pressure skyrocketed.

"Professor Marshall," the one in the front seat said, casually. "We are going to go for a drive..."

He didn't question them.

He just turned the key in the ignition, and did as he was told.

~o~

All in all, it had been a very productive day.

Things were going well. Smoothly. The way he liked for things to go. Shredder was feeling relaxed, and quite confident.

The wall of monitors was alive. Shredder leaned back in his chair, feet slung comfortably up onto his desk. Miss O'Neil had done the predictable thing when her mutants had called her the other night and it had not taken long for Tatsu to trace the present whereabouts of the Turtles. It was not really her fault...her phone was tapped - he suspected she knew it - and her choices as to what to do with the dying mutant had been limited. Things could have been much more difficult had she chosen to take the thing to a private veterinarian, but the hour had been late and he supposed the thing had been wounded badly enough that she hadn't had the time for careful deliberation.

The number of zoos in and around New York were also limited. And by some marvellous stroke of good fortune, she had taken the creature to a facility where he had roundabout access to the security records.

The Doctor she had contacted had left Miss O'Neil's name with the security gate, as well as her own. It had been easy, after that, to find out everything he could about the woman, and her relatives.

They had set up surveillance. Doctor Marshall had taken up residence at the zoo, was staying very close to her mutant charge. They had noted the comings and goings of the woman's husband. They had also gone to the trouble to tail and eventually take the Professor's twin sons into their own protective custody.

Shredder watched the multiple screens with interest. The scene was redundant, every glowing surface a mirror of the same images.

Images that were themselves a startling reflection of one another.

He had known, over the years, two separate sets of twins personally, both of whom had purported to be identical and only one set he had actually believed in that. Still, he had always been able to distinguish them apart...

In time, he supposed he might also learn to distinguish Devon from Trevor Marshall, but, aside from their clothing, by monitor there was no real way, visually, to tell the two apart.

There was potential in that striking similarity.

At the moment the two boys were alternately pacing and sitting restlessly in the small detention room that was down one level and perhaps a hundred yards to his immediate left. For the first hour of so of their confinement they had both paced nervously, speculating aloud as to what they had landed themselves in somehow. Trevor had grilled his brother, demanding explanations and making unfounded accusations about the company his twin had been keeping, most of which had been vehemently denied. Of course, they never even came close to the truth about the situation, knowing nothing whatever of the Turtles and what their stepmother had done for them.

Shredder had gleaned quite a lot of information from the heated ramblings, not only about Devon's supposed friends and acquaintances, but about the twins themselves, their attitudes and dispositions and general reactions to unusual and stressful situations. His assessment of them was favorable. They had both exhibited considerable backbone in dealing with their as yet unknown hosts.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _There is potential here to cultivate._

Perhaps.

Immediately, their presence was all that he required of them.

Shredder picked up the remote control for the monitor that scanned a critical area of the first floor of the warehouse. He made adjustments, and changed the scene on that particular screen. Tatsu had reported in almost an hour ago. Another guest was due to arrive, momentarily. He watched that screen absently, watched as a number of his Foot came and went, going about their own assigned tasks and oblivious to the video cameras that were as much a part of the environment as the walls and floors. Few of the experienced warriors ever took note of them...

The twins had taken note of the cameras, and so did their father, almost as soon as he had been ushered into the building and the blind hood pulled from his head. Professor Marshall was extremely nervous, having a better comprehension of what he was doing there. Allan Marshall had _met_ his enemies, knew indeed that the Turtles possessed a very dangerous enemy of their own, and no doubt, had already determined in his own mind that he was now in that enemy's camp. The man did not look happy. He would be less happy yet. Shredder did not expect the Professor to be happy. He did, however, expect that he would be co-operative...

He made further adjustments with the array of remote controls, obliterating the multiple view screens transmitting the twins in their detainment and replaced them with local stations and network daytime programming. He left the volume on low on the news channel, as if he'd been viewing that program in particular. He cleared his feet from the desk, and adopted a demeanor of casual intimidation.

He was ready, when Tatsu finally escorted Professor Marshall into his office.

Shredder rose politely to his feet, a courtesy that was hardly a requirement, but wouldn't hurt and didn't cost him anything. He had yet to sound Professor Marshall out, had yet to determine just how heavy-handed he was going to have to be to bend the man to do his bidding. He gave the new arrival a moment to take note of and adjust to his presence...his armour normally came as a bit of a shock to the uninitiated. The armour was an intimidation in itself and much more than a prop he employed for the mere show of it - the blades were obviously real, at that close range, and their hazard genuine.

Allan Marshall drank it all in, becoming visibly alarmed. "You're -" The Professor caught himself before he stammered and drew air in deeply. "You must be the Shredder."

He smiled behind the mask and nodded once, again with unnecessary courtesy. "Please, Professor Marshall, make yourself comfortable." With another nod, he indicated the chairs opposite his desk. "But it is only 'Shredder'," he corrected the man congenially. "It is a name, not a title."

The man glanced nervously at the seat in question hestitated and then moved to sink into it slowly. "It seems...appropriate." His voice was weak.

"Yes. It is." He saw no point in misleading the man. "Doubtless," Shredder went on, resuming his chair as well. "My reputation has also preceded me."

A mute nod was the response.

Again, Shredder smiled behind the faceplate. "You will find, Professor Marshall, that where my enemies are concerned, it is well deserved."

The Professor took the moment Shredder allowed to consider that statement. He cleared his throat. "Why am I here?" he asked.

"Professor Marshall. You have been in the company of my enemies. They have proven very difficult for me to locate in the past. Difficult to locate and difficult to access. I am seeking information."

"You almost killed one of them."

Shredder shrugged. "It is my intention, eventually, to kill all of them. I will advise you not to entangle yourself in that. It is an old feud, and personal. You may, perhaps, already have been told something of it. I am also quite intolerant of interference in my own affairs, Professor Marshall. The creatures have made that mistake, have meddled where they ought not to have. Do not repeat their errors, Professor. I am unforgiving in the extreme."

The man opened his mouth, and then shut it again, saying nothing.

"Your involvement, so far," Shredder continued, "has been incidental. You are not numbered with the creatures as among my enemies, though you do seem to be serving their interests. I can also be reasonable. Your wife has, as of this time, proven useful. I can even admit to a certain gratitude...she has given me a means to gather my enemies, further providing me the opportunity to dispose of them all. Had the one simply been killed, I would be less one enemy, but still at a loss to reach the rest. This, however, is no longer the case."

Several times, Allan Marshall blinked. The man could not, or would not hold his gaze. He knew he was being threatened, but did not understand the extent of it. He grew obstinate and set his shoulders firmly. "I do not want to be an accessory to murder," he stated.

"I have not asked you to be. Assassination does not seem to be your calling. Professor Marshall, I recognize that you must have a certain _professional_ interest in these creatures, and I am, for the time being, prepared to indulge that. Your particular field of expertise I consider an unexpected bonus in these circumstances."

It was not a lie. That the Professor was indeed an expert in the subject and study of reptiles had struck him initially as almost too much to ask of coincidence.

"I have an interest in studying these Turtles. You could well be of service to me in this area. I have been ignorant of the true nature of my enemies for too long. It has cost me in the past."

A spark of interest, at that suggestion, lit in the man's eyes. Interest tempered with deep suspicion.

"These...Turtles...are a rather phenomenal discovery." Shredder prompted. "It may be possible to arrange for one or another of them to fall into your possession."

The eyes narrowed in startlement. "How would..."

"All things can be arranged," he interrupted. "I have been honest with you, Professor. I am seeking information," he repeated. "I am giving you the opportunity to co-operate with me in this."

Allan Marshall hesitated. "My absence will be noticed."

"You will not be absent for any inexplicable amount of time. I have no intention that they should be alerted to my notice, not at this early date."

"You assume my silence."

"I fully expect it." Shredder leaned forward, touched a button on his master remote. All of the screens on the wall behind the Professor changed. The man stiffened, realizing it was a significant motion, and turned.

"All things," Shredder said again, with dangerous softness. "Can be arranged."

It took a long minute. Then Allan Marshall turned back, casting one hopeless, mute appeal toward Tatsu, who was still standing patient guard near the door. But there was no help forthcoming from that quarter. The Professor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What is it you wanted to know?"

~o~

It had been almost a week.

One day short of a week since Leo had first been hurt, Raph realized, and Meg had decided that it was time to make another collective visit to the zoo. Raph and Mike went with her. It was time to give Don a break, and they all wanted to have another update on Leonardo's condition. Meg seemed to think it was about time for him to come home, even though her mother had said at least ten days...he'd looked pretty good, she'd said, after they'd made the visit to drop off the canister they'd dug out of the sewer for her mother.

They took a moment to greet and visit briefly with Melissa Marshall, and then made their way back up the corridor to Leo's room.

Leonardo was still unconscious. Megan exchanged glances with each of the three Turtles, and Raphael's fingers tightened around one sai. She didn't look happy about it - suddenly he wasn't...it had seemed sensible enough for Leo to be sleeping all along, Leo had needed the rest, needed the time to heal. It was like hibernation wasn't it? He watched as Megan sought Leo's pulse, and raised a pleased, if puzzled eyebrow when she found it strong and steady.

"Lot better than it was," she told them. "Shell's healing up nicely too." She pointed to the scarring plates that were now far less the horrid sight than they'd been a week ago. Carefully, she wiped a sterile gauze pad across the healing cracks, taking only a small stain of nearly clear ooze away from the central point. "He'll always have a mark there though," she commented. "Hope he's not too vain." Turning, Meg stepped on the pedal of the trash can behind her, tossing the gauze pad away.

Then she stopped abruptly, staring down into the garbage.

Her eyes flicked to the IV drip and back again. Megan bent and reached into the trash can, coming up with an empty syringe and a tiny glass vial. She scowled, reading the label and then, more angrily, hunkered down and dumped the contents of the pail out onto the floor.

There were another six of the glass vials.

Raph's other hand went to the other sai. "What?" he asked her tightly, because it was blatantly obvious that she suspected something foul.

Michelangelo shifted anxiously, watching Raphael. Donatello stood up, likewise wondering what was going on.

"This," Megan hissed, holding up the handful of vials. "This is a sedative! Leo is still unconscious because someone has been keeping him that way!" She stuffed the evidence into the pocket of the nylon jacket she was wearing. Meg kicked away the rest of the garbage, and turned to stride angrily for the door and into the hallway that would take her back to the small office her mother was occupying.

Raphael tailed her closely. "Don-stick by Leo. Mike, let's go."

Megan stormed as far as the door to the office, then paused, composing herself to calm before knocking lightly and pushing it open without waiting for permission to enter.

"Hey, Meg," her mother said from her computer terminal. "That was a short visit."

"Uh-huh." Meg responded. "So...Mom. How come Leo's still out cold?"

She asked the question casually, as if in passing.

Melissa Marshall didn't seem to notice. The woman looked tired, Raphael thought, as she leaned back in the chair with an expression of deep concern crossing her face. She looked to Raph and Mike standing in the doorway, sighing with a slight slumping of shoulders.

"I wish I knew, Meg. He just hasn't come out of it. That worries me. It's beginning to worry me a lot."

Meg considered the statement. "Allan been here?" she asked next.

"Oh, please Meg, don't start that again. Of course he's been here. You know I can't pull this off all by myself."

Megan was stone-faced. "Uh-huh." She repeated sourly. "I can tell you why Leo's still unconscious. Someone's been giving him this stuff!"

Megan pulled the glass vials from her pocket and slapped them square onto the table in front of her mother, a mute accusation demanding an answer.

Melissa Marshall blinked at the small objects. She knew what they were, no question. "Meg, where did-"

"They were in the garbage, back there." Megan supplied the information icily. "I don't suppose you know how they got there?"

Her mother's face colored. "No, I can't say as I do!" Her tone rose sharply. "But if you're suggesting that I-"

"Not you!" Meg shot back. "Allan's done it! Nobody else could have, if not you!"

"Allan wouldn't -" Melissa stopped herself short, realizing that no one else _had_ been around Leonardo. "Why? Tell me why he would, Meg."

Cold, rational discussion now.

Megan rolled her eyes in frustration. "All the reasons I went off with the Turtles for in the first place. He's looking for glory or specimens or something. I don't know! You tell me - he's _your_ husband!"

Her mother drew and held breath. The topic suddenly wasn't Leonardo anymore, Raphael realized, but something else that had been brewing for a long while before either of them had ever heard of mutant Turtles. He swore inwardly, wondering what he should do about it. He didn't like the whole business, feeling awkward and uncomfortable because what these two were about to get into didn't concern the Turtles at all.

"You've never liked him, have you Meg? Never even tried to. You might have said something about it before we-"

"You might have asked me!"

"I _hadn't_ thought it would be a problem."

"You make too many assumptions, Mom!"

 _"You don't try Megan!"_

Megan stared, her lips moving silently. Raphael knew what Meg had been putting up with from her stepfather, intermittent domestic violence that Meg had never let on to her mother about. He could see her shaking with an irrational desire to spill it all now, but she didn't. She didn't shout anymore either. "Mom -" she said slowly, with an icy calm, " - you wear blinders all the time. Where have you _been?_ Haven't you..." the calm broke, went uncertain "...haven't you even been worried about me?"

 _Dammit Meg, just tell her! Stop beating around the bush!_ Raphael wished silently. He didn't think there was much reason for her to avoid it any longer.

Alarm crossed Melissa's face, as if she had decided all at once that perhaps there had been a reason to be worried. But she jumped to a wrong conclusion entirely. Her glance went nervously to the Turtles at the door, a quick panic. "I'm calling security!" she threatened and reached for the phone, pressing buttons in rapid succession before Meg could intercept the action.

Raphael did.

His sai hit the wall beside the desk, taking the receiver from Melissa Marshall's hand and driving into the drywall with the cord tangled in the prongs and the receiver banging the painted surface as it swung like a pendulum on the end of the cord. The rest of the phone clattered loudly to the floor, dragged from its spot on the desk by the impact of the thrown weapon...he'd used more force than necessary because she had just scared him cold with the fear that they were about to pay for that misunderstanding.

Melissa Marshall froze, white faced, staring at the damage.

Even Meg swallowed hard. The tension in the room was palpable. It was Megan that moved first, going to the sai to pull it with a controlled dismay from the drywall, letting the handset tumble to the carpet. "Is this," she asked her mother in a hurt tone, waving the dagger at her as sad illustration. "Is _this_ what it takes for me to get your attention now, Mom?" She picked up the phone, slammed the receiver back into its cradle and shoved it back onto the corner of the desktop.

For a long moment they stared at one another across a gulf of distance much farther than the two feet of desk between them. Then Melissa Marshall slumped back into the chair to rub at her eyes wearily. The argument was over. The tension dissipated in a brief instant. "I'm tired, Meg," she apologized. "We'll have to talk. Not now. We have too many other priorities." Her gaze fixed onto the empty glass vials, then travelled to the Turtles at the door and back to her daughter's face.

"What do you need?"

Megan's features softened. There was some unwritten agreement communicated. "Okay," she said, acceptance of the terms. "Okay," she said again, this time referring to the last question of needs. "We need Leo conscious. We need his course of treatment documented. We need enough supplies to finish it out. And we need all the notes you've been keeping. We need that canister and lab reports. He's out of here...as if he'd never been at all. No traces, Mom. None."

She paced around the room, brought Raphael's sai back to him. "Sorry," she murmured, apology for the whole scene. "Thanks." She gave his hand a tiny squeeze as she handed it to him. "Tonight," Meg said more loudly, addressing her mother again. "We'll take him out tonight, when things are quieter. Anything that we'll need for Leo. Make a list."

Her mother nodded. "It's yours. Thirty minutes. Leo will take a little longer. You're right. He can't go until tonight."

"You'll keep Allan away from him?" It wasn't really a question. It was the most potent demand she'd made.

"Yes." Absolute. And there was a hint of danger for the man in question. There was another pause, another silent communication.

"Mom?" Megan asked, in a tone that was less certain of the carte-blanche agreement now.

"What Meg?"

"Can I have the car keys too?"

~o~

Megan got far more than just the car keys.

Even she was impressed. Her mother, in short order, had found and filled three cardboard cartons with an array of medical goods and pharmaceuticals that looked sufficient to keep an entire herd of Turtles in business for years to come. Certainly it was more than Leo was going to need. Her mother was feeling guilty, or something else that she could only guess at, for whatever Allan had been sneaking about doing to Leo, and what Megan carried out to the small imported wagon at the service entrance was meant for all the Turtles and for Splinter for future use.

The canister went into a fourth box, along with all the lab reports and printouts that had been generated over the past few days. All the diskettes that had been filled with information on Leonardo went into Megan's carry-all. Her mother assured her that there were no duplicates.

A credit card came with the car keys. Credit and a list of other things that Megan was instructed to pick up at the local veterinary supply house on her way wherever...Melissa Marshall did not ask where they lived, had not asked once all week, in fact. Megan supposed it was a matter of trust, and that her mother hoped to learn for herself in the immediate future.

One of the last things her mother did was to give Leo a small dose of stimulant, to rouse him out of the sedation. She had, in one sense, been relieved to find that additional sedatives were the only thing keeping Leo down...the discovery had been unexpected, and had raised a number of serious non-medical concerns, but at least it had meant that Leonardo wasn't lost in a coma, something she apparently had begun to suspect, having no reason to believe otherwise. _Coma_ was not a term she'd wanted to bring to anyone's attention, and Meg had been just as glad she hadn't mentioned it...the movie of the same name had been aired just the other night and it would have scared the Turtles witless thinking of Leo in that light. Michelangelo in particular seemed to take his television seriously.

Leo came to, sounding just as stupid as he probably had the first time, and then promptly gone back to sleep, leaving Michelangelo gaping at the seeming lack of intelligence he'd displayed. Her mother assured him that there would be a marked improvement after a lengthy and natural sleep...

Megan was anxious to get going, but she didn't get away without first being pulled aside for what could only be an awkward little speech. She loathed sentimental displays, but at least the Turtles had withdrawn into the storage room to watch over Leonardo and decide among themselves who was going to stay until later that night.

"Megan..." her mother began. "You were right. I owe you -"

"No. Forget it, Mom." Megan interrupted the apology. It could only lead places she didn't want the conversation to go. "I don't like 'sorry'. You know that."

"Yeah - yeah, I guess I do know that. Should by now."

"We've gotta get going. Traffic's gonna be slow."

Her mother nodded. "Know that too," she sighed ruefully. "All right, we'll talk later. But before you go -" she reached inside the collar of the lab coat and tugged at her necklace, drawing it off over her head. "I've been meaning to give you these - here."

 _No..._ Megan knew what it was, didn't think she wanted the responsibility. _Not now, not-_

Megan stood still as her mother dropped the braided gold chain over her head and didn't know quite what to say.

The gold braid was threaded through a couple of wedding bands and her mother's engagement ring...all of it gold and diamonds and absolutely priceless because these things belonged to her parents...

She objected. "Mom... _Mom,_ I _can't_ take these...they're yours and - "

"And I've got another one that I'm wearing nowadays. They're yours to take care of now. Got it?"

Megan closed a hand around the rings. "What if I lose them? What if - ?"

"You won't lose them. Not you Megan. I know you better than that. We'll talk later. Hear me Meg?"

Later sounded safe enough...she was knotting up, unexpectedly. "Ummm. Okay." She said finally. "But..."

"You're out of time," her mother prompted.

There were Turtles glancing down the hallway, looking to go...

"You're gonna miss out on those supplies if you don't get there before the place closes. Get - " Megan got an affectionate shove to send her on her way. "See you later tonight."

"I'll call." Megan promised. "Let you know when."

"Do that. I'll be here. You don't have to worry about - anything." Her mother's voice was quite serious. Leo was going to be safe. "And Megan-"

She turned, hearing the change in tone.

Her mother looked at her with devastating normalcy. "Try not to wreck the car."

~o~

The drive turned out to be long and hot. Donatello had claimed the backseat of Doctor Marshall's car for himself, thinking to catch a quick nap, but it was stiflingly hot and humid under the blanket that Megan threw over him and the heat just made him hyperactive...sleep was well out of the question, and after only twenty minutes in the slow traffic, he actually found himself feeling sorry not only for himself, but for Raphael too, who had elected to spend the drive sitting up front in the passenger seat, cloaked closely in his trench coat and fedora.

Raph always felt so secure in his disguise - or had, up 'til now. Don saw him shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat every time he came up for air. Raph felt safe in disguise-at night and alone. He wasn't normally out and about in broad daylight, and never sitting stuck somewhere in traffic, practically on display for adjacent motorists.

Now Raphael was muttering things to that effect under his breath. "So how come you don't have tinted windows?" he inquired sourly of Megan. "Everybody has tinted windows!"

"Obviously, everybody does not have tinted windows!" Megan snapped back, her mood little improved in spite of her mother's total capitulation to all of her demands. "You had the choice. I told you I could've folded down the backseat. If you don't like it then you can just crawl on back there with Don and - "

"No thanks!" Donatello said loudly from under the blanket. "I'm just fine back here the way I am." It wasn't a big car, and it wasn't a big backseat either. Don had no wish to be cramped up there with Raphael, especially Raphael in a bad mood. "Let's just get to wherever we're going, huh?" he suggested amiably.

"I'm working on it." Megan mustered a curse for the traffic, and another for New York in general. She really didn't seem to like the city much at all, and Don finally asked her why.

The question diverted her for almost half an hour. She'd lived in nicer places, _much_ nicer places, she said, had travelled with her parents up and down and across the continent, even as far as Alaska once. She'd actually been born in Canada, it turned out.

Raphael had looked at her sharply, up and down, as if it made a difference. "You don't look like a foreigner," he commented.

Megan had just given his brother a withering stare, one that made her look just like her mother in doing it.

The stop at the veterinary supply house didn't take long, and netted them another two cartons of supplies. Donatello shuffled under the blanket, venting himself fresher air through windows rolled right down.

Another discussion followed, as to whether or not to reorganize the whole seating arrangement. They gave it up. The parking lot was too busy and Raphael had become obstinate about keeping his seat. That suited Donatello fine - _he_ didn't want to be on display for the next hour, which was what she'd predicted the trip home was going to take.

"Two," he'd judged himself, correcting her.

"My house!" Meg snapped again. "Not yours!"

"Oh." It was the most backhanded invitation to go visiting he'd ever received. "Okay."

It took an hour and twenty minutes, but that was only because she'd made one more stop at what she claimed was the best deli in the world, and picked up two big bags of groceries that joined him in the back seat.

For the rest of the drive, good smells wafted past his nose and made him extremely hungry.

The house was an older, Victorian-style edifice in an older, Victorian-styled neighbourhood, full of mature trees and flower gardens. There were squirrels and birds and rabbits. The house had a garage and a breezeway through to the house, something he had cause to be grateful for, because it was still daylight and Megan had reported the presence of at least one nosy neighbour. Raph was wearing the only trench coat...

Megan pulled the car into the garage and then quickly checked out the house...neither Allan or the twins were in evidence, another situation that rated their gratitude. Raphael was in no mood to deal civilly with the Professor and they were both reluctant to involve any more bodies than necessary in their circumstances. Donatello recalled that at least one of the twins had never made it into Megan's good graces either.

She unloaded the groceries, spilled the contents onto a vast expanse of kitchen counter and explained that she hadn't been home all week and had no idea what the state of the larder was at the moment. The house had been mainly under the care of the twins, and she had anticipated an empty fridge and domestic devastation.

Megan collected the mail, flipped through it absently and sorted out those items that belonged to her. She shoved them into her bag, stating that she'd look through it all later. The house was the nicest Donatello had ever seen the inside of; April's apartment would have fit there three or four times over, and there were conveniences and appliances of every size and description in every space he looked. The Marshalls enjoyed their comforts, by all indications...the state of the place was above Megan's expectations. The laundry wasn't heaped and the quantity of dishes in the sink reasonable. The fridge wasn't empty, but it did contain a pitcher of soured milk that she poured down the drain, muttering how 'they' either drank it by the gallon or not at all. Megan told them to help themselves to the fridge and the groceries, and took herself to the basement and her bedroom, intent on a shower.

"Stay out of trouble," she warned them from the stairwell. "And don't eat everything!"

Don traded an innocent glance with Raphael, and they promised. A moment or so later, the shower was running. That was no surprise at all. A shower was the _first_ thing that April ever did after visiting, and Megan had been in the sewers for nearly a week now...

Donatello shrugged. "Women," he commented knowingly, and went to the fridge to pull open the freezer compartment and check for pizza - April always kept some on hand, and there were teenagers living here so just maybe -

Raphael slammed the freezer door shut, clipping the end of his nose in the process. "Ouch! Hey, Raph - she said it was -"

"Where's your manners? Wait for her to finish the shower. Besides, we gotta check this place out. Meg's not much on security...the doors aren't even locked and the drapes are all still open." Raphael was in a really bad mood. But he was right, grouchy or not, so they took the few minutes and explored the Marshall household.

Surprisingly, the most interesting spot turned out to be the Professor's study. It was a library, full of books, the most of which had something to do with reptiles - one whole shelf of those pertained specifically to turtles. Raphael flipped through several of them and Donatello turned his attention to the computer on the desk in the corner.

Electronics had always drawn him like a magnet.

That was where Megan caught them, nosing around in her stepfather's personal haven. But she just smiled at their self-absorption, the first grin he'd seen out of her all day. "Borrow the books if you want...he never reads 'em anyway. You guys hungry?"

"Yeah," Raph replied, picking out a few of the texts. Information on turtles sometimes came in real handy...Splinter would want to read them, even if they were full of dry and boring detail. Don reached over and switched off the computer...he hadn't been able to resist at least turning it on.

"You like that stuff, huh?" Megan said to him, as he filed the manual back where he'd found it.

Donatello shrugged. She'd been sleeping in his bedroom, had to have figured out by now that he had a pretty keen interest in things electronic. When he'd been little, it had been the colored lights that had attracted him, but as he'd gotten older, it had been the amazing capabilities of those little circuits and wires and chips that had held his fascination. He ran a hand across the top of the monitor and admitted to it.

Megan folded her arms and leaned against the lintel of the door. "You know," she said slowly. "It occurs to me that Allan Marshall owes me a great deal - not to mention just what he happens to owe you guys."

Raphael put the books down with a wicked glimmer sparking in his eyes and a grin forming to go with it...

Donatello looked at her, wondering just what she was getting at, not even _daring_ to hope...

"So unplug it." Meg said. "I know where the boxes are..."

~o~


	7. True Forces - Chapter 5

**True Forces Chapter Five**

It had not been difficult for Shredder to infiltrate the security offices at the zoo, as the security contracts had been awarded to a firm that Shredder had pegged for its usefulness a long while back, and where there were staff members that were also full-fledged members of The Foot. It had been easy enough to shift personnel into positions that gave him virtually unlimited access to the zoo premises and the surveillance systems in place.

The young man at the kiosk of the service entrance knew their vehicle, and waved them through promptly, without asking any questions. Shredder made a mental note to commend Tatsu on another assignment well engineered.

He was sitting, relaxed in the backseat of the mid-sized sedan that he habitually used when he made such forays out into the streets. There was nothing remarkable about the vehicle. It was like thousands of others seen daily everywhere throughout the city. It had a clean record...no traffic violations or accidents to its history. All but impossible to trace to anyone other than the registered owner, who was an employee of one of their legitimate endeavours, who could, and would claim that the car had been stolen, should something untoward occur while it was out on Foot business.

There were ways to arrange for almost any contingency.

Tatsu was with him, also in the back seat. Up forward was the driver, another of Tatsu's trusted men, and fidgeting nervously in the passenger seat was Allan Marshall.

Shredder had decided he didn't like the Professor very much. The man had a mean streak, but that was seldom worth anything if it wasn't channelled properly. He was, in the final analysis, little more than a spineless bully. But at the moment he was useful, a direct access to his enemies, and amenable to manipulation as long as his sons were in Shredder's protective custody. The twins had potential, if they could moulded properly, and at least one of them had already seen his situation as one that presented avenues for growth that were personally appealing. The other might take a bit of careful persuasion. He would have Tatsu find out what vices the youth was responsive to, simplify the matter. There was always a means to any end, and a pair of twins so identical made a variety of covert activities extremely viable.

The car pulled up to the building housing the security center, and Shredder brought his mind back to the business at hand. He and Tatsu got out of the car, and it drove on. Both the driver and Professor Marshall knew what they were supposed to do. They knew that there was another vehicle following them - a small box van - and it tailed the car, proceeding as planned to the veterinary/quarantine building, where there were a minimum of two Turtles in house. According to Allan Marshall, there was always one standing guard over the other, keeping it company, supposedly keeping it safe.

They would both be his before the night was over. The men in the van were Tatsu's best team of specialists; this was a smash and grab operation, and their numbers were few. The team was armed with tranquilizer guns, and firearms more deadly than that, if the healthier of the Turtles could not be taken by any other means. Dead or alive, he would still be able to study the thing.

Professor Marshall was to coerce his wife for the notes she had been keeping on the injured creature, perhaps even to win her over to Shredder's camp to continue the work. If only Shredder had been able to lay hands on that one's daughter, it would have made the task a much easier one to accomplish. He didn't have sufficient leverage on Melissa Marshall. Not yet. Soon, perhaps. He would have to proceed carefully with the woman, for such qualified experts were rare, and she would be by far more useful in maintaining his soon-to-be prisoners than her academically trained spouse. Shredder was pragmatic enough to know when a professional hand was required.

Inside the security building there were a number of small rooms devoted to the video monitors, each one staffed with personnel to monitor specific parts of the video network in designated areas of the zoo. Tatsu led him to the room that was theirs, and he nodded to the man on duty there, one he knew to be the Foot's finest electronics specialist. The man indicated the screens before him, giving him a video tour of the quarantine building on request, from the glass walls of the entranceway, around the viewing gallery and on to the corridors that led to the observation tank underground.

The monitors did not extend as far as the sub-basement, where his objectives waited, unsuspecting. Doctor Marshall had ensconced the injured Turtle in an unused storage room just down a short hallway from the janitor's office where she had then settled herself for the duration of her patient's stay.

There was another, larger part of the building on the ground level which was undergoing extensive renovation and which also was not under surveillance... _a gap_ , he thought. But not one that should affect tonight's operation to any degree. He had the expert scan back to the view of the entranceway. A moment later, Allan Marshall appeared there, glancing nervously up at the camera as he made his way toward the lower levels.

Shredder tapped the console with the twin tips of the gauntlet blades. If there was a gap in their strategy, he was watching it now. Truly, he did not trust Allan Marshall to carry out the assignment that had been outlined for him. Strictly amateur, that one. The man was no actor, and if Melissa Marshall was still sharp enough after an exhaustive week of juggling the double demands of her work and prolonged Turtle-sitting, she would sense something amiss on the wind. She was the Professor's wife, after all, and no doubt knew the man far better than Allan Marshall suspected, or wanted to believe. Even Shredder had no means to plan around woman-wise intuition.

"I do not trust him, Master Shredder," Tatsu said from behind the chair that Shredder had appropriated. "He will fail."

"Perhaps," Shredder responded, leaning back in the seat to reflect that Tatsu's opinions were generally accurate. "I agree - the man is not capable. But his sons are ours and that fact will motivate him. Allan Marshall may yet surprise us."

Tatsu grunted, a non-committal sound.

"And if he does fail, Tatsu," Shredder continued. "We are here to pick up the pieces. The Turtles down there will also be ours, whatever the Professor does or does not manage to accomplish with his wife. And she can always be taken against her will too, if necessary." He turned to look at Tatsu, still standing just behind his shoulder. "They will all belong to us soon. The Turtles and their human friends. Including the one that you want, Tatsu."

A predatory gleam came into Tatsu's eyes, as Shredder had known it would. It was coming time to reward Tatsu's patience.

"We will flush them all out." Shredder went on. "When we have these ones, we will have the key to bring the rest. On _our_ timetable, Tatsu. To a place of _our_ choosing. We will rid ourselves and this city of the mutants. There will be no Turtles. And there will be no Rat. Their human friends can die with them."

Shredder turned his attention back to the monitor. Allan Marshall had disappeared from their view. He removed a tiny receiver from the folds of his bodysuit and switched it on. They had provided Professor Marshall with an audio transmitter - without his knowledge - as a measure of their lack of faith in the man. Shredder did not intend to miss a single word of what would transpire between the Professor and his wife. Perhaps he would even be able to eavesdrop on a conversation with one of his enemies.

It was, he decided, going to be an interesting night.

~o~

Melissa Marshall was in a foul mood, and had been ever since the scene with Megan that afternoon. Meg had been right, and she herself had been blind to it. Not paying attention. And not just for the past few days. She was wondering just how much had been going on around her that she had been blind to.

Allan had called. Was coming down for another visit. She would find out just what else had been going on.

She had warned Michelangelo to stay out of it. Warned him in no uncertain terms.

Melissa was tired, and she knew it. It was a bad time to pick to have it out with Allan, but she didn't even reconsider postponing the confrontation. There were principles involved here and her indignation was a righteous one. She shuffled the several tiny, empty vials that Meg had retrieved from the trash bin, lining them up neatly on the surface of the now cleared desk, wondering again just what her husband had thought he was _doing_. Certainly he had done a poor job of covering his tracks. She rubbed her eyes wearily. At least, she thought, silently thanking whatever deity was responsible for mutant Turtles, at least he hadn't done Leonardo any harm with the sedatives. Whatever Allan's intentions were, his methods had not been terribly malicious.

 _What_ had the motivation been though? Simple ambition? Allan did have a slight ego problem that way...he loved recognition, and the discovery of mutant Turtles, living in the city's sewers, no less, would have been a sure-fire means to a media circus with himself in the center ring. She recalled now the sullen response she'd gotten when he'd learned that she had been interviewed for the Channel Three news report, how she hadn't truly understood the reaction. and that had been nothing more than a local news feature.

And when it came to the Turtles - well...he just didn't seem to realize that these were _not_ animals. She wanted no part of the hysteria or the publicity that would result should their existence be disclosed.

Again, Megan had been bang on in her assessment. And a good deal quicker at it than her mother. Melissa was coming to the slow realization that maybe Meg's decision to go off alone into the sewers with these creatures had been more than grandstanding for her attention. She knew her daughter. She just didn't always remember how well. Megan had one hell of a righteous streak, and the backbone to support it too, never mind that she was usually an exceptionally quiet kid. Megan had the capacity to astonish when she chose to exercise it.

Melissa's eyes wandered to the damaged drywall beside the desk. She had never seen _anything_ like what Raphael had done that afternoon, and still couldn't quite make the incident take shape in her memory. The phone had been torn from her hand with an accuracy and speed she could scarcely credit. The things that the Turtles carried were not props, but real weapons. And they knew how to use them too. Her mind started down darker pathways. Whatever did they need such weapons for?

She shook her head. Silly thought. We have an enemy, one of them had said. Of course. Look what that enemy had done to Leonardo.

 _I am tired. Lord Almighty, Splinter went through all that, had warned me in plain language..._

She refused to follow that mental pathway any further. Megan was still with them...and she didn't want to consider the possibility that keeping such company might leave her daughter open to the same sort of attack that Leonardo had suffered. The urgency of Splinter's initial warning had faded over the days. Nothing had happened to fulfill it, and exhaustion had watered it down further. It would all be over soon. Later tonight. Megan would come home and they could get on with their own, more mundane lives. She had things to say to her daughter, things that she should have said a long time ago, but it had never seemed so... _so necessary..._

Meg always seemed to know, always seemed to understand. But no, no, it was not just _seeming,_ she decided. Meg did know, did understand. They had reached a tentative peace in the aftermath of the afternoon fracas. Things would be different hereafter.

Once she settled things with Allan.

He was late. What else was new? She added inconsideration to the list of wrongs he was going to have to atone for, and shuffled the vials again absently. It was betrayal, on a scale that hardly bore thinking...she had trusted him in this, _trusted_ him where Meg had not and Meg had been right.

His story had best be a good one.

She heard footsteps on the stairwell, quiet and distant, but she had become attuned to listening for the sound. He had better not open the door to check on Leonardo either...the other Turtles had been silent on the matter of the sedation, but they were nonetheless incensed about it. She had never lost sight of the fact that they carried weapons, and she had seen now how they were able to use them. She waited, until the footfalls rounded the corner.

"That you Allan?" she inquired, raising her voice.

A second's pause. "Yeah, it's me Mel."

 _"Get in here!"_

~o~

He had been nervous before, and feeling the symptoms physically as cold sweat and intermittent shuddering. Allan Marshall was involved in something he had come to recognize as a game in a league far, far beyond anything he had ever imagined.

These Turtles had gone from an exciting scientific discovery to the root cause of a kind of terror he was not coping at all well with - Allan Marshall was afraid, as he had never been afraid in his life, for the boys, for Mel, even for her wretched daughter.

But he had coped, motivated by the terror, and prepared his arguments, knowing how much was resting on his ability to convince Mel to hand over the information she'd been accumulating on the Turtle. That and the can she'd had them pick up in the sewers as well. _That_ article was something that Shredder seemed to prize, almost above the Turtles themselves. He himself had ceased to care about the Turtles at all, save as the means to extricate himself and his family from the circumstances, a way to be free of the fear and the danger. He did not know how else to deal with it, other than to give into the extortion.

He had been as prepared as possible, and he lost it all now, hearing the tone of his wife's voice.

 _She knows!_ came the panicky thought. _She knows...how? What?_ Was it Megan, was it the Turtles? Maybe she had found the vials...he had left them there, hoping she might, the only roundabout warning he had contrived to leave. He had contemplated notes, contemplated the police, contemplated just blurting the whole thing out, but Shredder had the twins, had been that step ahead of him all the way. He'd told Shredder that the thing was healing well, would be gone soon, and Shredder had told him to stall that. Keeping the Turtle sedated had been the only harmless way he'd known to do so, and all that he'd been able to manage...he still had enough dexterity to palm a syringe without detection. He'd pulled it off - had administered the sedative and disposed of the syringe without getting caught.

He had counted on Mel to read the vials as a warning, and realized now that such a discovery would only arouse anger, and more petty suspicions. He had miscalculated, again. Another shudder racked him, but he moved forward. There was no way out but forward. Shredder had given him only one option. Allan Marshall shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket he wore, clenching them tightly, and went to the end of the corridor.

"What's up Mel?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He froze in the doorway. She had cleaned the room. To the bare walls...

"Get in here," she repeated icily.

He hardly noted the tone. The desk was cleared. The computer was unplugged, the printer boxed and both were sitting on the floor next to the door. All the paper was gone, the mountain of printouts vanished. He didn't see the coveted canister anywhere.

"You've cleaned up," he heard himself say.

"Damn right. Allan, come in here and tell me what _these_ are."

Melissa was talking about the vials. They seemed to be the only item of significance left in the whole office. His palms were sweating. She was angry.

"All right!" she said, standing up from behind the desk. "If you don't want to tell me, then I'll tell you." She started in on a long harangue, filled with Megan's theories and wild speculations.

 _She's cleaned up_... he thought again, numb to the shouting.

"... _you had no right_! Allan are you listening to me?"

" _I heard you_! Mel, just what the _hell_ is going on here?"

She seemed taken aback, that he used that tone. She was on the warpath, and expected the meeker submission that he usually treated their arguments with, knowing that they would blow over in short order. It was the normal course their fighting took.

"I wish I knew!" came the heated response. "And _you're_ going to tell me Allan. You're going to tell me what this is about." Her hand slapped the desk again, making the glass vials skitter.

"Megan was here," he said, sullenly.

"Yes, she was, and I'm damned glad too. If she'd been here all week I wouldn't have had to rely on you for _\- for this!"_ Mel's arm flung wide, indicating again the small items on the cleared surface of the desk.

"You look like you're moving out. Where is everything Mel?" His wife's face colored, suffused with flushed exasperation because she had not gotten through to him yet.

"Yeah, I'm moving out. So are the Turtles. Tonight. Leo's going home. Obviously he's not safe here. Took an eighteen year old kid to point that out to me, you know that? You almost had me convinced, that this was A Discovery. And I was making headway with the canister."

"That's great Mel. I'd like to see the report."

"Don't hold your breath. I realized Megan was right today. She's got all of it. And we're not going to see it again. Any of it!"

He blinked at her in non-comprehension. What did she mean, it was gone? It had to be here, down the hall, in boxes, with that Turtle. She'd just cleaned up hadn't she? She wouldn't give it all away...

"You mean, it's not here?"

"Allan, are you deaf? No, it's not here. I gave it all back to the Turtles. It belongs to them. There's nothing left here to prove that they exist at all. Nothing. Understand me Allan? Whatever game you've been playing is over!"

He felt the color draining from his face. No. She _couldn't_ have.

 _The boys! Shredder!_

 _"You got rid of it?!"_ he shouted.

"Ah! So you did hear me then. Yes, Allan, I got rid of it! And I hope you're satisfied!"

"You got rid of it!?" Allan Marshall's voice rose, as the import of it sank home.

"Don't play games with me Allan. You heard me!"

He paced. He crossed the room and back again, numb, the terror rising. _Shredder has the twins!_

"It's not here, if that's what you're looking for - Allan, what the hell is the matter with you?! I'm still waiting for an explanation and-"

 _"He's got my boys!"_

Megan would have been able to warn her, would have recognized the signs. But Melissa hadn't ever seen him lose control and break something, let alone strike anyone. It was blind fury, driven by the terror, and all of it went into the backhanded blow that Allan Marshall sent toward the woman that had just condemned his sons -

There was a crack as his hand made contact with Melissa's temple, and the force of it flung her backward to collide with the desk. She fell and lay still.

Allan Marshall blinked into the sudden silence. The rage evaporated. Mel did not move. A creeping cold stole over him. Cold such as he had never, ever felt before.

He backed up, until he found the wall at his back, and then the terror overwhelmed him altogether...

~o~

It had been a ripping good argument.

Michelangelo had been eavesdropping on the entire thing, sorry that Leo wasn't awake to share the fun. Arguments that concerned them personally had always been a strictly internal matter, and it was a real novelty to hear the fireworks coming from outside sources with such fervor. Melissa Marshall was in a right holy uproar that matched his own mood near enough when it came to the subject of her husband. Mike was still itching to spill Meg's secrets, wondered just what effect _that_ would have had on the argument...

 _Be a real blast then,_ he thought, musing on that, knowing he wasn't ever going to find out, because he had promised Megan he wouldn't tell, albeit reluctantly. Leo was just going to have to miss the fun, such as things were. Leonardo was sleeping, a real sleep this time that wasn't sedation, and he'd been told very specifically not to disturb him until it was time to go. So it was Mike alone that nosed in on the argument, toying idly with his 'chuks until the shouting ceased abruptly. _Too_ abruptly.

Michelangelo went cold all over.

Allan Marshall had been known to beat Megan. He'd seen Meg's back. He'd just been thinking about it. What if he'd lost his temper with Melissa too and -

Suddenly, Michelangelo didn't care what she'd said about staying out of it.

He opened the door to the hallway a crack, listening intently. Then he moved quickly toward the small janitor's office, slowing as he neared, and aghast at what he found there.

 _No! No, no, he just can't have killed her!_

Michelangelo stared, his gut knotted with things that he couldn't identify, hot and cold sensations that were a mingling roil of horror, guilt and shame all at once...he'd only been down the hall. He might have stopped this, but he'd been too busy enjoying the fight instead of paying more attention to the content and direction that it had been taking and now-

Now Melissa's neck was broken, and her eyes were staring at him from a head turned impossibly his direction. She was lying on the carpet, close to the desk and it was easy to see that she had struck the corner of the desktop in the course of a fall to the floor.

 _Dead! She's really dead!_ _How will I ever tell Meg?_ Michelangelo stood there, his eyes coming up to meet Allan Marshall's. The Professor was standing, stricken dumb by what he'd done with his back pressed to the far wall and his lips moving wordlessly. It was as if he couldn't believe it either, to judge by the horrified expression etched on the man's face.

He began to stammer. "I didn't mean...it-it was an accident!" There was no color in his face whatsoever. The distress was genuine.

Michelangelo didn't care.

Allan Marshall moved sidelong toward the corner of the room as Mike took one step forward, realizing that he was growling, and probably had been for the last two minutes, or however long it had been that he'd stood there, numb with what had just happened. The growling was anger. The step forward was confused indecision. He didn't know what to do next. Tie this one up. Make a phone call. Wake up Leo and hot foot it _out_ of there.

 _This can't be happening! We're almost out of this!_

He heard himself shout at Allan Marshall. "Why?" There was still intense disbelief echoed in his voice. But there was no denying it, no way to undo the deed.

The man shook. He said one word, turning Michelangelo's blood to ice water. _"Shredder."_

Michelangelo spun.

The corridor behind him was no longer empty.

Shredder stood there, with a man that he identified as Tatsu, from the descriptions he'd heard from Splinter and Casey. Behind them, there were a half dozen Foot in their black dogi and masks. They were opening the door to Leo's infirmary.

Leo!

 _No!_

Michelangelo launched himself down the hallway.

Shredder and Tatsu had been waiting for him, and repelled his spinning attack with a minimum of effort. They were both ninja masters, and their combined skills were easily enough to keep him pinned in the back end of the corridor, while their accomplices moved efficiently to hustle Leonardo out of his room and toward the upper level. One stayed behind, raising something, aiming down the hallway -

A rifle!

Mike froze for an instant, drawing breath sharply. He ducked. Something sliced the air beside his head and _thunked_ into the wall behind him.

A dart.

Tranquilizer dart, he realized. _They want to take me too!_

The group that had Leo was vanishing around the corner. Panic was welling up, the first real taste of it that he'd ever experienced. It was different from what he'd felt when Leo had first been hurt. He hadn't been alone among enemies then, hadn't been the sole hope that Leo's life had been hanging on. The Foot with the rifle was aiming again.

Michelangelo went wild, finding a strength and energy born in the panic. Tatsu tried to block him, but he evaded the chopping kick with an acrobatic flip that carried him around the man. He blocked Tatsu's follow through punch and seized him by the front of his dogi, pulling him around, using him as a shield as the rifle went off again.

Tatsu's body went rigid and then his muscles trembled with a palsied shuddering before he went down like a stone, the tranquilizer dart lodged firmly in his back.

That left Shredder alone, barring the way out.

"Very clever, mutant," he commented, eyes flicking to his companion's limp form as Mike let Tatsu go, shoving him to one side of the hallway. "Tatsu will not be pleased." Shredder set himself confidently. "I will not be taken so easily."

That was it.

That was Shredder's mistake, Mike recognized with a sudden and surprising clarity. Shredder _wanted_ to fight, and was expecting Michelangelo to feel the same, as if he didn't have anything else on his mind and that this was some sort of an exercise. Shredder didn't seem to realize that _taking_ him wasn't Mike's intention at all. What Michelangelo wanted to do was escape, to follow that group carrying Leo off to whatever unknown fate and to prevent them. It was not in his plans to be carried out the same way, or to let Shredder delay him long enough for his cohorts to get away clean.

He had an advantage, now that it was one on one - aside from the bladed armour, Shredder didn't have any other obvious weapons, and Mike still had both of his 'chuks. He set them in motion and charged, recalling that April had brought the medical reports from the hospital, and that he knew all about Shredder's broken leg.

Shredder caught the first 'chuk, seizing it as it whipped around the forearm guard, simultaneously putting his body into a spin, one that would both absorb the momentum and tear it from Mike's hand - it was a maneuver Michelangelo knew, and had anticipated. He let the other end of it go, throwing Shredder's balance off by a fraction. Shredder was fast on the recovery, but not quite fast enough to avoid the second 'chuk that was aimed for the left thigh that the spin brought into range and which Mike had targeted as a weak point.

The weapon contacted flesh, impacting full-force. Shredder's left leg collapsed, toppling Shredder sideways with the remaining momentum of the spin, stifling a bellow of pain. It all happened in seconds. Even so, Mike was unable to escape unscathed, as Shredder brought the long-bladed gauntlet sweeping down, catching the back of his leg as he vaulted over his downed enemy. Michelangelo bowled headlong into The Foot with the rifle, striking the barrel of the thing up with the 'chuk he still possessed, followed it through with a damaging blow, and then kept going, dripping blood from a pair of long gashes as he raced the entire length of the distance out.

There was a van at the dock of the service entrance. The doors were closing as Mike rounded the corner, hearing the engine as it roared to life. He sprinted for it, feeling the panic again, and might have made a successful leap for the back of the vehicle if a line of gunfire had not erupted right in front of him. His own instincts for survival threw him from his course at a critical moment.

Michelangelo rolled, seeking the edge of the dock and dropping quickly over the side, finding shelter from the sniper, and a manhole centered in the paved well of the loading bay. He stared after the receding truck, feeling the agony of defeat as a vast and growing numbness in the center of his soul.

He wanted to weep.

What he did do was pry up the manhole cover, and slip into the dark quiet and safety of the storm drain.

He had to get home fast.

~o~

Shredder had been quite right when he'd thought that Allan Marshall might surprise them. But he had never guessed just how much.

He and Tatsu had sped to the quarantine building even before things had gone silent on the other end of the audio transmitter. He had guessed in an instant that the professor had done accidental murder, depriving him of the expert he'd been hoping to cultivate. The task of keeping the Turtles had assumed a much larger magnitude, up-scaling geometrically, especially as all the documentation on the creature had also vanished that afternoon with the woman's daughter. All that and the precious canister too. _Curse them all!_

He was tempted to do murder himself, but that, at this juncture, would only complicate the matter further, and leave him with no professional advisors at all.

He would let Allan Marshall keep his life for a while yet. It might still be worth something, even if only little more than a lever to ply the twins with.

The Turtles were still within his grasp. The situation was not beyond salvage - Shredder was even entertaining a wild notion about taking all the Turtles, that night, if he could arrange to get the manpower organized quickly enough. He rejected the idea. It would have to be far more carefully planned than that - he had only to look and see how tonight's operation was starting to unravel in order to make that decision.

Shredder was wishing he'd brought his bo, although in the closed quarters of the corridor it would have been of only limited use. His fingers clenched around the leather of the hand gauntlets...he would have the opportunity to christen them in battle. And he also had two daggers, tucked into the folds of the tunic, but he did not anticipate needing them. Nonetheless, it was good to know they were available. He wondered which of the Turtles was there, and how it was armed. He would know in another short minute -

They were approaching the sub-basement. Tatsu had alerted his team, and they closed with them noiselessly from the direction of the service entrance, following Tatsu's signalled instructions and falling in behind them.

Silently, Shredder turned the corner of the hallway that led to their destination. There at the far end of the corridor, was a Turtle. The one in the orange mask, armed with nunchukus, the one that seemed to believe it was a comedian. Shredder clearly recalled the insolent comments this one had spouted non-stop in the course of that last rooftop confrontation.

It would not find things so humorous this time.

Shredder had engaged these creatures in combat. He knew now what to expect, as did Tatsu. And this one was alone. It turned. Shredder watched as it assessed its situation, saw its gaze go past the barrier that he and Tatsu had made of themselves and saw the alarm that the implied threat to its companion lit in its eyes.

It threw itself into the battle without hesitation, but gained little ground against them as the team behind them sedated and removed the other creature. At that, the Turtle went frantic, evading and very neatly taking Tatsu out of the battle - that had surprised him, that quick improvisation -

But not nearly as much as it had surprised him when the thing's 'chuks had gone straight to the thigh muchly marred by the scars of surgery and scored a direct hit there. One that electrified his nervous system, and sent searing pain to course up and down the length of the entire limb, hazing his vision with a gray fog.

 _How had the thing known! How?!_

His hand had continued through the arc of the blow he'd been set to deliver, striking badly, but nonetheless making some degree of contact. The pain had left him writhing until the gray cleared. Then he found himself staring along the concrete floor at the prone form of the man that had tried to tranquilize the Turtle and failed. A long trail of blood receded to the end of the hallway, and doubtless beyond. He had that satisfaction, amid the ruin of his well-laid plans.

There was a crimson smear down the length of the double blades, blood as red as any human's. The things were mortal. He determined again to kill them, all of them, as he levered himself up and limped toward the upper level - he had to know if they had taken the injured one without interference from the other.

 _If we have but one of them, it will be enough..._

Enough to bring the rest of them back into his net.

The gray haze returned to plague him. He could not stand on the leg. There was a trickle of blood soaking through the fabric at the weapon's point of impact. He could feel the tearing split in his skin, running along one of the surgical scars. The very thought enraged him, that perhaps the thing had damaged the plate, or the pins, and that it would mean further surgery. He leaned heavily on the railing that ran the length of the observation tank, gathering his strength.

His mind was racing, _damn_ them, this was a complication he had not planned on whatsoever...

A murder to deal with, curse Allan Marshall along with all the rest! A murder, a body, and puddles of blood trailed through the whole building - all difficulties, and the time consuming complications _multiplied..._

A black form came into his peripheral view and he straightened as the warrior approached, plans forming rapidly in his mind. There was not much time, and too much to do. Tatsu was down, but the men present were competent.

"Did we take the creature?" he demanded of the one that had come.

The warrior bowed. "The injured one is ours," he reported. "The other has escaped, into the sewers, Master Shredder." The man was nervous, reporting that bit of information.

Damnation! Now the others will be warned, but at least...

But at least there was - there _was_ a way to turn it to their advantage, yes there was.

Shredder closed his eyes, thought intensely along the tangent that had just occurred to him.

They would still have to move quickly.

He gave the warrior orders, several, rapidly. The haze interfered. It took him a moment to recall the name of the electronics expert - he needed to see the man at once. Tatsu and the sharpshooter had to be removed, and Allan Marshall -

The Professor he also needed to see, immediately.

The warrior had nodded as the orders had come, each absorbed. "It will be done," he said, acceptance of the assignments.

Shredder dismissed the warrior, and then slowly let his weight back down onto the railing, fighting with his vision again. He would have only a few moments of respite, before the orders he had just issued would be put into action, and the real work begin...

His muscles were shaking. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin, everywhere. It was nervous shock, he recognized the symptoms and forced them down, ignored them, as he tried to ignore the insistent pain, the fire in his thigh.

He would kill them, he vowed, would kill every single living last one of them, carve them out of their ugly green mutant shells one at a time and -

A shadow passed, a rippling disturbance in the light, something huge slipping past him on the other side of the observation port. It drew his gaze upwards to follow the motion. He laid a hand on the thick, clear plexiglass surface, awed by the creatue's _size..._

The video camera had not shown details of the creatures inhabiting the quarantine pool. He had known they were there, but had taken little note of them. The presence of the crocodiles had been in no way relevant to his plans.

Shredder narrowed his eyes.

His plans were changing...

~o~

Donatello was positively beaming. Megan was _giving_ them this stuff. For keeps. All the books. All the hardware and the software. And it was like new, shiny and clean and looking quite out of place among the plethora of electronics that he had scavenged and hacked into working condition. It was powerful too. He would be at this for months!

"This is just _excellent_. Totally, unbelievably excellent!" he kept chanting to Raph, running his hands over the equipment one more time. "Like we can do some serious stuff with this Raph." A for real, live desk-top computer was more than Don had ever hoped for and this one had all the peripherals and add-ons that would get him into databases and networking and -

"Not tonight, you won't be." Raphael grumbled, interrupting his brother's enthused ramblings. "We're already booked up for tonight. You know, that prior engagement? And we're outta here soon too."

"Nah...not for nearly two and a half hours yet Raph. And Splinter's still napping besides. It's only ten thirty - we have to wait for the whole city to go to bed before we can check Leo out of intensive care."

Raph just kept muttering. Don turned to look at him. Raphael was on the edge again, worrying. "We're bringing Leo home, Raph. Tonight. It's gonna be over. April's driving...we'll have him home in about four hours and settled in. Sooner than we thought he'd be back here. Not much more we can ask for Raph."

"Want him here now." Raph was pacing, and had been ever since the argument that Megan had had with her mother that afternoon. "Doesn't it bother you, just a little bit, that Leo was getting downers all week, no charge, from the same dude that takes his frustrations out on Meg? Bad news there, Don. He had a plan for Leo that we don't know a damn thing about."

"And we're going to foil his dastardly plot. I'm not happy about it either Raph. Nobody is. But her mom's okay...like, she took real good care of Leo. Night and day, Raph. You know that. She knows now. And so does Mikie. Dude's not getting anywhere near Leo. And in a couple of hours he just won't matter anymore."

"You weren't there today."

"Was too."

"Not a part of the conversation I'm thinking about." Raph scowled again, recalling the fight Megan had had with her mother, and how upset she'd really been about it. Megan McLaine was worried, and therefore, so was Raphael. She _knew_ these people, he'd said, during an earlier conversation along these same lines.

Donatello's gaze wandered over to where Meg was dozing on their dilapidated couch. She had been flipping through and scanning the printouts her mother had generated, and finally dropped off into slumber after a day both long and fraught with high emotion. "She's okay too, Raph. I like her. She'll get it settled with her mom. We'll just get Leo out of their way, that's all."

"We can't just kiss 'em goodbye Don. Leo's not that well yet."

"Our turf next though. We can grant visiting privileges. And we're all stocked up now." Don had been mightily impressed by the store of medical goods that Melissa Marshall had appropriated for them. Splinter's home remedies were fine and they'd always gotten by on them, but what they had now was the real thing. Science in their bathroom cupboard. Don liked that. And they had professional medical advisors too. More decent people like April and Casey were, and he liked that even better. Don wasn't the social animal that Michelangelo was, but it was still nice to expand their extremely small circle of friends. He had learned to like humans a lot.

Megan was stirring on the couch. "Hey Meg!" he called. "How about you come and show me how to hook this thing up?" Don looked up at Raph again. "Couple more hours, Raph." He reached up and gave his brother a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Nothing can go wrong now."

But Raphael looked back at him straight faced. Raph hated it when people said things like that.

~o~

The computer was almost hooked up and operational. They still had another forty minutes to kill, and Raph was listening absently as Megan explained in as much detail as she could how to run the thing. Don was hanging on every word, making like a sponge when she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence.

"What did they just say?" Her head snapped around, going to the TV, which was on, but ignored over in the corner.

Raph and Don looked at one another. "Didn't catch it," Don began, but she'd already pushed past the two of them, bee-lining for the set.

"They said something about the zoo-" she told them, since they'd missed it. "Heard them mention the zoo," she repeated. It was as if she'd caught her own name spoken across a crowded and noisy room, the way one would if one thought one was being talked about.

The TV had their collective attention now, and she'd been right. The man on the screen _was_ talking about the zoo.

 _"-details are not fully available at this time, but it is now clear that there has been an apparent homicide under unusual circumstances. Police spokesmen have issued a statement saying only that information will be released pending further investigation. We take you now, live, to the scene."_

The man's face vanished. Megan took two steps closer to the set and sank onto her knees there. "Homicide?" she repeated slowly.

The new scene showed police cars and an ambulance. A vehicle from the coroner's office. Raphael went cold all over. There was a milling crowd of people, reporters, zoo personnel and authorities. They were all milling around _in front of the quarantine building!_ "Don...Donatello, get Splinter! Do it now!"

Donatello heard the tone, the rising fear in Raph's voice. Don was on the same path to panic himself, and he went, fast, to rouse Splinter out of bed.

There was a crisis in progress. _Homicide,_ they'd said. _Unusual circumstances,_ they'd said. In the very place where they'd left Leonardo and Michelangelo!

A field reporter came into focus. He moved into the crush, closer to whatever action was taking place, toward a knot of police escorting a distraught man out of the building.

Megan drew a shuddering breath between clenched teeth. It was Allan Marshall.

Raphael watched the screen past her, a deepening horror and vivid speculations rooting him to the spot. His fists were clenching and unclenching nervously. _No. No. No. It just couldn't be..._

The crowd of reporters was collectively clamouring for a statement. The police pushed back at the jostling throng, but Allan Marshall _did_ have something to say.

 _"I-I'm afraid I can't comment. I can only...only say that my wife was working with an unusual specimen-"_

 _Leo. No, dammit!_

 _"-and that-"_

 _"A dangerous specimen?"_ Some reporter interjected.

 _"I-I don't know. Possibly. It was large and-yes. Yes, I believe it was dangerous."_ Allan Marshall was stammering. _"It may have...killed her-please-I have no further comment."_ The police put themselves between Allan Marshall and the crowd, some of them looking less than pleased by what the man had said, and unhappier still by the hounding mob. The reporters then closed in on the detective in charge, preying there now for information.

 _"All I can say right now is that there has been a death and that the matter is under investigation,"_ the detective said calmly, unflappable in his profession.

 _"But you're treating this as a homicide though-Professor Marshall indicated that some animal was responsible,"_ one of the reporters objected. _"Can you explain that further sir? Is the animal in confinement? What kind of an animal? Has it escaped and is this a public hazard?"_

 _"The matter is under investigation."_

 _"The public risk, sir?!"_

 _"A statement will be issued as soon as we have sufficient information,"_ the detective repeated, and when it became apparent that no further information was to be had, the network they were watching concluded the news report and returned to their regular programming.

Meg stood slowly, still staring at the screen. Raphael was behind her, numb and trying to absorb what they'd just heard on the tube. _On the tube!_ Oh _, damn!_

"They were talking about my mother." Meg whispered in disbelief. Her shoulders were shaking. "She's dead!" Meg burst out, spinning with her hands clenched and a wild look in her eyes. "They just said she's - "

Megan flung herself for the door, her intention apparently to bolt, for whatever purpose Raphael couldn't guess. Splinter and Donatello were in her way.

Don caught her, gripping her firmly by the upper arms.

"Megan!" he said sharply. _"Meg!"_ Don had to repeat himself as she tried to break from the hold. "Stop it!" Don shook her once, again firmly, expecting hysterics or weeping at any second; but Megan just moaned, and sank to her knees.

Don went down with her and put an arm around the shoulders to subdue the shaking there as he looked up to Splinter and then over to Raphael.

"But where-" he swallowed. "Where's Mike?" he asked, voicing the worry that had Raphael rooted in place. "And who's got Leo?"

The door banged open.

Michelangelo stood there, distraught and panting and bleeding. He must have heard the question.

"Shredder does," he groaned in reply. _"Shredder's got Leo!"_

~o~

Tatsu's back was sore. Stiff and sore all around the vicinity of his lower right shoulder blade, where there was a neatly circular bruise of black and purple, fading to yellow around the edges. The discoloration was centered like a multi-hued bulls-eye on the tiny scab where the point of the tranquilizer dart had penetrated his back.

He rotated the shoulder slowly, loosening the stiffness and nursing the ache, enriching the schemes of vengeance that were coming nearer to fulfillment with each passing day. It was the second time that one of their enemies had taken him down, and this time, in his Master's presence. He was coming to share Master Shredder's hate of the Turtles with a passion that was unlike his customary cold and detached indifference.

He had failed his Master, and that Shredder had also gone down to defeat at the hands of the orange-masked Turtle had only added to the shame and fuelled the passion for revenge.

Soon, he thought, very soon, now that The Foot had one of the creatures in its possession. A sorry sight, that one was, having run afoul of Master Shredder's trap. Tatsu thought it a wonder that the thing had survived long enough for its companions to find it medical aid. They were tough, these Turtles. Tough in the same way the Rat had been. Too stubborn to die, it seemed, under almost any conditions.

The Foot could help them with that.

Tatsu eased himself into a new dogi. He and Master Shredder had discussed their options that morning, laying the groundwork for the next phase of the operation. He had a great deal of work to do, ironing out the details with his own subordinates. Shredder was leaving it entirely up to his own discretion, an honour in which he did not intend to fail either his Master or The Foot in accomplishment. He already had a good number of the details organized in his own head. For the moment however, he had another small assignment to complete.

His quarters were, like Master Shredder's, on the top floor of the warehouse that had become The Foot's headquarters after the loss of the Brooklyn facility. Tatsu did not like this building nearly as much, although they were making improvements all the time. Still, they had had a nicer view of the Bridge from the last location and he missed it. He made his way down now to the ground level, where the training areas and dormitory were located.

It did not take him long to find the Marshall twins.

Identical as they were, Tatsu had little trouble telling the two apart on attitude alone. Devon, the elder by all of twelve minutes, he had learned, was the co-operative one, cocky and self assured, fitting in nicely with the other recruits and eager for the things that The Foot had to offer. That one was practicing basic karate, learning at an acceptable pace and doing quite well for a one-week novice. The youth had been a delinquent before The Foot had ever entered his life. Devon Marshall had direction now, his future better defined within the framework of those delinquent energies. The likelihood of the youth now running afoul of the law was minimal...situational avoidance of authority was one of the first things new recruits were well grounded in. Devon was the sort of raw material they liked to have walking in off the street. These two were a cut above the usual - they were not street kids, either one of them, for all of Devon's aberrant behavior.

His brother was another story altogether.

Trevor Marshall was playing along. Tatsu had not yet determined just why, whether for his brother's sake, his father's or some other obscure reason of his own, but his interest in The Foot was not real, as hard as he tried to convince otherwise. He was the intellectual of the two, a quiet boy whose preferences were academic in nature. Trevor had no delinquent tendencies whatever, and, moreover, a deeply rooted honest streak that was at tremendous variance with his twin's proclivities. No fool, however...he was in foreign waters and out of his depth and the boy knew it. Hence the feigned interest. Trevor Marshall was putting in time, biding on events he could in no wise control, and hoping for the best outcome. Tatsu supposed that he might even throw his lot in with Devon if worse came to worst. It was a reasonable line for one in his position to be walking. Tatsu had no quarrel with it. There was still time to turn the attitude around. What had actually surprised Tatsu most about Trevor was his manual dexterity...in a fit of boredom, the youth had set about entertaining some of the other newer recruits with a deck of cards and some really impressive sleight-of-hand trickery. It turned out that both twins could do parlour magic and were passable jugglers besides. Tatsu had seen to it afterwards that Trevor was given the opportunity to practice pick-pocketing, and he had displayed an innate talent for the task. He had been working at it when Tatsu collected him, along with his brother, for delivery into the presence of Master Shredder, the both of them due for an in-depth interview.

That bit of news made them both understandably nervous. The talk about Shredder that they allowed to circulate was impressive without being too dire, but sufficient to induce a healthy sense of awe in the lower echelons. The twins already knew they were in custody for reasons that had something to do with their family, and while Devon was finding the stay agreeable, it was still true that they had not come in voluntarily.

Shredder's 'office' was on the third floor, a mid-sized room made all the smaller by the vast array of video and television monitors that were Shredder's window on the world. There were two computer terminals, a bank of entertainment electronics and a wide desk surrounded by a number of chairs. Tatsu ushered the boys in, and then settled himself unobtrusively in a corner of the room over by the entertainment center, where he discreetly activated the toggle that would record the upcoming conversation.

It was Shredder at his silken, amiable best, and it was, Tatsu knew, all an act, for Shredder was truly in a foul mood after last night's incident with the Turtle. Tatsu's bruise was nothing at all beside the one his Master was wearing amid the scars and the cut on his upper left thigh. Once, long ago, Tatsu had been struck by nunchukus, a sloppy blow from a youth with beginner's luck, and it had broken several of his ribs. The 'chuks were a dangerous weapon and Master Shredder had taken a strike from an enemy that not only knew how to use them, but had also had the blind fortune or the certain knowledge to target Shredder's weakest point.

Nonetheless, Master Shredder had been up all night, getting things organized to divert police attention, to install the Turtle here on the premises and to undergo the necessity of a physical check on the leg, up to and including a full set of X-rays that he hadn't felt he could spare the time for. Shredder had accomplished it mostly single-handed, personally supervising such subordinates as he trusted in Tatsu's absence, and had done it in the space of time that Tatsu had been unconscious.

Tatsu was always in awe of what Master Shredder could do under the influence of a rage-driven motivation.

Now Shredder smiled at the twins as he waved them casually into the chairs on the opposite side of the broad expanse of desk behind which he was leaning comfortably himself. His feet were slung up onto the corner, because of the injury, rather than any preference for the easygoing slouch, but at the moment the posture served the double purpose of personal comfort and smooth dissimulation - Shredder meant to set the twins at ease and he was going to unusual lengths to do so. His helmet was off and sitting on the edge of the desk as if it had been discarded there in nonchalant offhandedness. Tatsu knew better. Master Shredder was never casual with the armour. It was his second skin and that he shed it now was a calculated measure designed to win confidence, perhaps to sway loyalties, even if only on a subliminal level.

Devon responded to the smile with a bow, such as he had seen so many others execute on the lower levels when greeting their superiors. Trevor followed suit, but the bow was clumsier.

"Please, boys, sit down." Shredder told them, the invitation congenial. "I understand that you have both found things to occupy your time here with us?"

They both nodded, and Devon affirmed his interest eagerly. They both kept casting surreptitious glances to the scars that so very few members of even The Foot had seen.

"Your enthusiasm does you credit," Shredder replied easily, including both boys in the statement, even though Trevor remained subdued. He then laid a finger on the scars. "And this," he added in the still-friendly tone, "Is a distantly related matter to the one in which we now find ourselves involved. Someday I shall tell you of it." There was a brief pause. "You both have talents of value to our organization. You will find that hard work and patience will be rewarded and I further trust that your association with The Foot will be a long one - for us, your acquaintance has been an unexpected windfall of the circumstances that brought you here." Shredder paused again, as if reflecting deeply, lost in thought, before continuing in a tone that was grieved. "Those circumstances have changed."

Trevor sat bolt upright. Devon leaned back in his seat, trying to maintain the cool posture he'd adopted, but Tatsu read unease in the motion.

"Our father?" Devon asked the open-ended question.

"He is well enough. Still involved in a situation only partly of his own making. Your father is in no small difficulty, I'm afraid. We are working to resolve it with him. Things are not beyond salvage yet, but-" he allowed his voice to trail off and his eyes to search the two mirror-image faces across from him. "But we shall require your help as well, if we are to settle the situation favourably."

There was a short silence.

Trevor finally cleared his throat. "The situation," he said. "What is the situation?" he asked in a respectful tone.

"Your stepmother is dead."

The regret in Master Shredder's voice was in some part genuine. Doctor Marshall's untimely demise had undone last night's operation. Both Tatsu and Shredder were wishing that they'd not bothered to involve Allan Marshall in it at all. Hindsight and too late now to do anything but salvage what they could and work around the difficulties that the murder had raised. It was one of the reasons that they were courting the twins.

They looked to one another in alarm, absorbing the news. And then Devon caught them off guard.

"He lost his temper," he stated. "Didn't he?"

Shredder did not immediately respond. It was one thing that he and Tatsu had not decided upon, whether or not to tell them the truth until they had seen the reaction to the report of their stepmother's death.

"Yes," Shredder replied slowly. "He did. Still, her death was accidental. She broke her neck in a fall, after your father struck her. Your father has a temper, as you obviously know, but he is not by nature a killer. This too, you know, without doubt."

Trevor was looking extremely uncomfortable, more deeply affected by the news. "So - just what is the situation then?" he asked again, rephrasing his previous question slightly, with a quaver in his voice. He was at a loss, needing more information before he could think any further. Devon glanced at his brother, every bit as anxious for the answer.

"The situation," Shredder began, again slowly. "Is highly unusual. At the moment your father is under police surveillance, as well as our own." It was a veiled threat, whether the twins recognized it or not. Allan Marshall could undo them all with an incautious confession and all that was preventing it was the fact that The Foot still had his sons' lives in the balance.

"The police are looking for the two of you and for your stepsister. Doctor Marshall's death is currently believed to be the work of my enemies and I should like to cultivate that particular belief. You will understand that much better, soon enough. The Foot can help your father in this - but again, only with your co-operation. We are fabricating alibis for the both of you. You need only to support them."

Devon straightened in the chair. Trevor's eyes were closed in dismay, finding himself mired more deeply than he'd ever imagined in something utterly beyond his control.

It was Devon that took a deep breath, after a long, consulting gaze with his twin. "What do we have to do?" he asked, of the two the more decisive.

"You must go with Tatsu and listen." Shredder said, swivelling his chair and coming smoothly to his feet, in spite of the injury that Tatsu knew was causing him a great deal of pain. "It is time for you to meet my enemies, to see the reason that your stepmother became involved at all. Tatsu - "

Tatsu came to his own feet and motioned for the twins to accompany him. He bowed formally to Master Shredder, an action which the twins then copied, and Shredder nodded his head in response.

"We will continue this conversation," Shredder said mildly. "Go."

Obediently, they followed Tatsu out the door.

The Marshall twins were going to meet Leonardo.

~o~

There was a sudden noise. It was a metallic sound, something mechanical or several identical somethings mechanical, because the sound always repeated itself. It didn't startle him...nothing seemed to. Leonardo was adrift again, and slow to absorb and respond to anything that happened around him.

Someone usually showed up a short/long while after the noises. _Must be the locks on the door,_ he thought. _Must be a lot of them, for all that noise..._

Seemed sensible. He blinked slowly and let his head roll in that general direction. Yeah, that was it, locks on the door. The door was open now, there was motion there, a number of people. The lighting behind them was harsh, making them shadows with light spilling all around them. He liked the effect.

One of those someones reached over and flipped on more of the lights inside the room. Things got very bright, blinding, except for the colors that scintillated around the lighting and drew his attention up to the ceiling to watch them dance and rotate along the edges of the fluorescent fixtures. He really liked that effect.

It didn't last long though and he closed his eyes with a long sigh when the colors faded. Maybe he would just sleep. Then they would turn out the lights again, and maybe later the colors would come back. It was a little bit like fireworks. A great show, but always over too soon.

"What is it?" someone whispered.

Leo opened his eyes again. It must have been something interesting - the voice sounded so...so _surprised_. He let his gaze wander about. He would notice something different. The room was pretty plain.

It was the bald guy again, the one with the moustache. Why he'd want hair on his face and not on his head was beyond Leo though. Might as well get rid of it all...bald was okay. Turtles were bald too. No point in spoiling it with a moustache -

He was certain he knew who it was, had a name for him somewhere in his head, but he hadn't found it yet. There didn't seem to be any urgency about it...he'd shown up before, he'd probably show up again and Leo could think about it in the meanwhile. Funny, he was usually better with names than that.

"It is one of our enemies," the bald guy told them. "It is a mutant, a humanoid turtle."

"That's not possible," another voice said, from the other side of him, close by somewhere over there.

Leo made the effort to turn his head. Oh. _Oh...I thought he was over there..._ Leo made another effort, rolled his head back to the other side. _He is. Now this will take some thinking._

"See for yourself. It is harmless, at the moment."

He watched as one of the blond images stepped closer, toward him. He blinked at him, waiting for the image to re-focus as the kid neared. His eyes weren't working quite right, he'd have to mention that to Splinter. Seeing double, and now not very well. Maybe he could ask April to arrange to have his eyes tested. Hadn't seen April for awhile...she would ask him what ears he thought he'd be hanging glasses on, since he'd seemed to have lost his mask. _I'll need contacts!_ he thought with some surprise. _Can't fight with glasses on._

"It's breathing." One of the double images said. "What happened to it?"

"It was injured. And taken to the zoo."

The image hovering over him looked up. "Mel," he said. "Mel put it back together. Mel and Meg."

"How was it hurt though? It's a mess."

Leo's eyes went over to that side. _He talks to himself too._

"A skirmish. It escaped us, with the others."

 _"Others?"_ The images asked that in unison.

His hearing was going now too. _I must be a mess..._

"They are our enemies. There are four of them, like this, and they are led by another creature, a mutant rat. They are troublesome and dangerous. They hide in the sewers, live there. We have fought them before. They hold your stepsister hostage."

The one image became very agitated. "Where did they come from? How did they get there? Master Tatsu, what _are_ they, really?"

 _Oh yeah! Tatsu, that was his name..._

"We do not know. Your stepmother was working on those questions. Master Shredder has theories only. We know they are intelligent. They speak. They fight. They are the enemies of The Foot."

"Why are they holding Megan?"

"To guarantee your stepmother's co-operation. To guarantee her silence and that of your father. They are dangerous, but they fear discovery."

There was a space of silence. Leonardo blinked and sighed again. He was getting bored. He thought he would sleep for awhile.

One of the images touched him, put a fingertip onto his shoulder. It tickled and he opened his eyes to look at the kid.

"What's the matter with it?"

"Aside from the injury, it is sedated."

There was another prod, from the other side. "It's real. It's _real_ , Trev."

"They talk?" the other one asked. "Like, you mean, in English?"

"I have heard them. Yes."

One of the fingertips ran down his arm. "It looks strong."

"Yes."

It still tickled. _'Course...I work out,_ Leo thought. He found he couldn't clearly recall when the last time had been though. _Splinter'll shell me!_ But he really just didn't feel like it at the moment.

The one image leaned over, close to his nose, but wary. "Does it bite?" he asked nervously.

"Nah...I don't bite." Leo said, looking right at him.

The image leapt back, as if he had though, and swore once under his breath. "It's got teeth!" he exclaimed. "Turtles...turtles don't have _teeth!"_

"Don't get so close, Trev!" the alter-image warned, sounding nervous too.

"Don't bite," Leo repeated. "Only bit Splinter once, long time ago." Leo told them all. "When I was real little."

The blond image was suddenly replaced by Tatsu, who was not at all nervous, and leaned quite close over his snout. "Leonardo, where is Splinter now?" he asked.

Leo blinked. Where was Splinter? "At home," he answered. "He's always at home. He's old."

"I've forgotten how to get there. Leo, where's home?"

"Can't tell," Leo sighed. "Take too long." He really was getting tired. "Gonna sleep now, Tatsu."

"I need to know, Leo."

"Go home later maybe. Take you there."

 _"Leo-"_ Tatsu was insistent "The closest street address, Leo - "

"Call April. She knows the way." Leo closed his eyes. "Turn out the lights," he finished. "Gonna sleep now..." He really had begun to drift again. He was spinning slowly. He wished the sun would come out, it had been so nice and warm before-

Someone shook his shoulder. _"Leonardo!"_

His eyes snapped open wide. "Huhnn? What?" It hurt. The face in front of him took a long time to focus. Oh...Tatsu again. Nuisance and bother and annoyance. Now what does he want? Leo was getting a little irritated. He wanted to _sleep_. He'd just said so.

"Where's home?" There was a demanding note in Tatsu's voice now.

Right across from the hardware store. Happy now? Leo was suddenly in a very bad mood. He would bite, if Tatsu didn't go away and leave him alone. He settled for growling.

"Go 'way Tatsu," Leo muttered. "And turn out the lights too!" he added, grumpily, shutting his eyes, intent on finding his slow current again. That did not take long and he lost the bad mood almost as quickly as he had acquired it. Leo went drifting comfortably again, ignoring the voices that continued to talk around and over him for another while, even after he had asked them to go elsewhere.

 _Rude_ , he thought.

But they did remember to turn out the lights when they left, and by then he was ready to forgive them. Leo let out another long sigh. He could always tell Tatsu later, he would come back, eventually.

Leo settled down to sleep. _But I'll have to remember to ask him not to tell Shredder..._

~o~

The twins had both needed and wanted information. Shredder had given it to them...more than they could possibly digest in such a short space of time.

News of their stepmother's death. That it was their father that had done it. That their stepsister was missing, that she was a hostage to his enemies. The startling revelation about the presence of mutant reptiles in the sewers. That those same creatures _were_ his enemies.

The two Marshall boys were quiet on their return to Shredder's office, overwhelmed by what they had heard and seen. They were subdued, suffering from information overload and far, far more receptive now.

Shredder watched them as they resumed the chairs they had previously occupied, and slowly, eased himself back down into his own seat with his leg throbbing under the tensor bandage wrapped around the thigh. He was extremely tired.

He had watched the twins and their reactions to the Turtle by video monitor, and had found he'd had to get up and pace around the small office painfully just to keep his attention focused, not to miss the small nuances of speech and body language. He wasn't sure he'd done that...his thoughts had wandered, more than once. It had taken the creature's unexpected garrulousness and Tatsu's attempt to pull information from it to nail his attention to the view screen. Too bad the thing had gone under again before saying anything useful. Well, he would simply review the tape later, when he was better rested, that was all.

He was going to have to sleep soon, or suffer the consequences of his own deteriorating judgement. He focused his attention on the Marshall twins once more, pushing the thought of bed to the back of his mind.

"So," he began, searching their faces for reaction. "You now see just how unusual things are. These...Turtles...require an adjustment in the way one views the world. They are alien, and dangerous."

"They have Megan, Master Tatsu said." Trevor spoke first.

"We believe so."

"Is she in danger then?" The youth was concerned.

Shredder shrugged. "Even I do not fully understand what drives these creatures. She very well may be." Their stepsister was in danger from The Foot merely by her association with the Turtles, far more than she was in danger from the Turtles themselves, but Shredder did not think it prudent to point that aspect out.

"She should never have gone with them then." Devon muttered sourly.

Shredder didn't miss the import of the comment. His eyes went to Tatsu for confirmation - Tatsu was also watching the boy. He directed his gaze to Devon Marshall. "Then you do not believe that she was taken hostage? You have reason to believe she went with these creatures voluntarily?"

That _was_ the case, according to Allan Marshall. But Devon had no way of knowing that.

The youth shrugged. "It sounds like something she'd do. She has a lot of soft spots. Liking animals better than people is one of them."

A moment's quiet in the room followed. Shredder looked from one to the other. Trevor was avoiding his twin's gaze sullenly.

"Tell me," he said, "Of your stepsister. What is she like? What might she do, given the circumstances?"

He waited, listening patiently to the bits and pieces of information that he plied from the twins carefully, sorting question and answer, wound up with a mosaic of plus and minus, a picture of a girl of high intelligence, far outstripping her peers academically, but socially aloof and riddled with human shortcoming. He had been surprised to hear about the beatings - not because Allan Marshall had actually performed them, but that she had kept the business from her mother in spite of the fact that this same girl had never approved of the marriage in the first place. Megan McLaine had a power, a weapon that Allan Marshall no doubt feared, and yet she disdained to use it. That struck him as very odd. He came back to the question of what she might do.

Neither of them seemed to want to speculate. "She's awfully smart." Trevor repeated. "She'll be thinking a lot."

"You can't trust anything about her." Devon added. "You never know what she's thinking. That's the problem. She doesn't talk, and she's stubborn."

Shredder narrowed his eyes in thought. These two, previously so attuned, were suddenly at odds. The positive things about the girl had all come from Trevor, he realized. The negatives from Devon. One defensive, the other bitter about -

He had an abrupt flash of insight.

 _A girl -_

One that they had both known for a long time. Perhaps, just perhaps, a mutual, competitive interest...

"You both," he stated his guess suddenly. "Have vied for her attention, then?"

It caught them off guard, that surmise. Devon blinked in surprise. Trevor blushed noticeably.

Then Devon shrugged it off. "Before our parents decided to tie the knot. It was no big deal."

The acid glance that Trevor shot to his twin said otherwise.

"Just a bet we had going," Devon added, much to Trevor's dismay.

Ah, Shredder thought. The source of the bitter tone, right there. "And so," he asked, casual curiosity. "Who scored?"

Trevor colored all the more deeply, as self-explanatory a response as anything verbal he might have communicated.

"No one," Devon filled into the silence. "She called it off as soon as she heard about the wedding."

So it had been Trevor, winning the bet, he decided. Devon jilted in the effort and not pleased, either then or now, about it. These two boys were handsome, the pair of them - Shredder guessed that their advances were seldom, if ever, turned down. They had that confident bearing about them. Devon had been nursing a grudge, Trevor something unfinished.

 _Teenagers_ , he thought.

And their parents had the blind gall to house the three of them under one roof. What a household that must have been.

Shredder filed all the information for future reference. He changed the topic, sparing them further embarrassment.

"We shall get her back, if possible." Shredder told them, a promise likely to prove empty. He had made plans, yes he had, intended that the Turtles would come to him, willingly, to rescue Leonardo. He did not know if the girl would come with them or not and thought that they would be fools to bring her...

But they were fools. And they would come. And as to the girl -

The girl he did number among his enemies. He cared nothing that she had been innocently enmeshed by the circumstances. She had taken the data, had taken the canister. She had, by those acquisitions, caused him much inconvenience. She had driven her stepfather to murder the only Turtle expert in existence, thereby alerting the orange-masked and muchly cursed creature that there was trouble about - they would have taken it, he was convinced, if they had not lost that element of surprise, and he would not now be suffering the physical consequences or having to deal with all the other difficulties that the sequence of events had spawned.

Yes, they would retrieve the girl if possible.

But not for the twins. They would have to remain ignorant of it should it come to pass...he could think of far more interesting things to do with Megan McLaine should she happen to come into his possession...

 _I am wandering again._ Shredder thought, dwelling on that line of idle speculation. _I am too tired for this..._

He was dealing with the twins at the moment.

"The matter of alibis-" he began, after a quick mental shake. "These have been arranged. Tatsu will supply you with the details and I urge you to familiarize yourselves with them thoroughly. The general story is that you have been away, sent by your father to a martial arts training camp upstate. Such a facility exists within our organization, and has proven useful in past, somewhat similar circumstances. Our police contact has advised his superiors that you have been reached there and are now under escort and on your way back to the city. You have had nothing to do with the situation that Doctor Marshall involved herself in, nor do you know the whereabouts of your stepsister. They will ask. I warn you now, they will ask you a great many things, and it is imperative that your stories coincide. _Learn_ the details which Tatsu will give you. Learn them well. You will be questioned individually as well as together, by experts. This has been taken into account."

Shredder paused, letting the boys absorb the advice. Still they were quite subdued, listening without response beyond infrequent nodding and a more continual exchange of glances and nervous swallowing.

"It is too late to help your stepmother." Shredder went now to the core of the matter, the central line of reasoning that he trusted would do much to win the twins over. "We can, however, do much to help your father. We will recover your stepsister if we are able, and I am optimistic in that regard. The Foot has dealt with these mutants in the past, and we will continue to deal with them now. You have seen one of them. Do not be misled by its condition. These creatures are dangerous, doubly so, if they fall into the hands of the authorities. They will bring your father down, will have nothing to lose by doing so, and I cannot even hazard a guess as to what might become of your stepsister - "

There was a deep silence. The twins looked to one another again, one more long consultation and then agreement there in their eyes.

"All right." Trevor conceded quietly.

"What do we have to do?" Devon asked, the same question for the second time today.

Shredder almost responded, having contrived the scheme himself earlier. He caught the reply there on his tongue.

 _Let Tatsu handle it._

 _Bed._

 _Sleep._

Those thoughts intruded again. "Tatsu," he said, trying to keep the weariness out of it. He hoped he did not look as exhausted as he felt.

Tatsu moved to the front of the desk. "Master Shredder." Their eyes met, understanding there. Tatsu knew what was required.

"Devon and Trevor have accepted their first assignment for The Foot," he said solemnly. "You must see that they understand the scope of the task, and as well, the scope of The Foot." Shredder stood carefully, against the pain in the leg, wanting nothing at that instant save to get to bed.

 _Let Tatsu handle it_ , he thought again. Tatsu would make them aware that they would be watched, as their father was watched. They had been here for a few days, they would understand now how such surveillance was possible - and Tatsu would make it seem like friendly advice and not a thinly disguised threat.

Tatsu understood teenagers, he worked with them on a near daily basis. If it could be done, Tatsu would finish the task of securing their willing co-operation.

Shredder _wanted_ these twins, for much more elaborate undertakings above and beyond this current operation. This would serve as a test for them, give him and Tatsu both a measure of their true worth.

Shredder executed a deep, formal bow, from the waist, and that hurt the leg. "The Foot Clan welcomes you," he intoned ceremoniously.

 _Secure their willing co-operation..._

It went further, always went further, than co-operation coerced. The coercion had failed miserably with their father.

They seemed duly impressed. They should have been, if they'd heard and paid any attention whatever to the tales circulating downstairs. They were both intelligent, quick on the uptake. They both recognized it was an honour he did for them, and if they'd absorbed anything of Japanese custom, a significant one at that.

It was also dismissal.

The Marshall boys came to their feet, returned the bow. "Master Shredder," they said, one after the other. "Thank you," Devon saw fit to add, as he straightened. "We will not fail."

The boy _has_ been paying attention. The response had been one of the formal ones that Tatsu demanded from his subordinates. Intelligent, yes, and eager. _This one will go far, and bring his brother along..._

Shredder decided he liked the youth, liked him a great deal better than he did the boy's father. It must have been their mother that had been the extraordinary parent, whoever she was -

Wandering again. He snapped his attention back. "Tatsu."

Tatsu caught his gaze.

He saw a deep concern there in Tatsu's eyes.

 _I will not fall down, Tatsu._

"Time is a factor. Go now."

Shredder followed that with a further instruction in Japanese, a language he was certain that the twins did not understand. It eased the worry out of Tatsu's steady gaze. Shredder was still very much himself, if wearied.

Tatsu nodded and complied, ushering the twins to the door and through it.

 _Get them the hell out of here_ , was the gist of what he'd said.

~o~


	8. True Forces - Chapter 6

**True Forces Chapter Six**

There had never been a worse time in Michelangelo's life.

He was terrified. Terrified for Leonardo. And he just couldn't seem to rationalize the guilt away.

He understood that he'd been outnumbered and outclassed. He understood that it had been a premeditated trap. He understood that he'd been damn lucky just to have gotten out nearly intact himself. He even understood that in spite of all that he'd managed to take down both Tatsu and Shredder all by himself - no small task that, and one he should have felt something positive about, but didn't.

And what Michelangelo thought about Melissa Marshall and what had happened to her only added to the burden. He could hardly even look at Megan, and it hadn't helped either that she had said it was okay - how could it _possibly_ be okay? - and that it wasn't his fault, once he'd told the story.

Splinter had pried all the details from him as he and Megan had examined the wound on the back of his leg, cleaning out the double gash, stitching it up and dosing him with antibiotics - already, he'd thought miserably, _already_ they were into the store of goods that Doctor Marshall had provided for them. That stuff had been meant for Leo...

The wound had helped to steady Megan, distracting her from what they told him they'd heard on the news. She'd given her mother's car keys to Don and Raph, when they'd decided the car would have to be moved, not wanting the vehicle to be discovered in close proximity to the den's vicinity. They abandoned it several miles away, in the dead of the night and without witnesses, just hoping the location would baffle The Foot and the authorities alike.

Michelangelo had watched the early morning news recap on the story with mixed horror and revulsion. They were trying to blame Leo. _Leo_ , who at the time had been helpless and vulnerable himself and in no way capable of what the implied accusations were leaning toward.

Leo was still helpless and vulnerable.

And in Shredder's keeping now. Michelangelo hadn't been able to stop them.

The very thought made him shrink into his shell. He was having nightmares. He didn't want to eat and he didn't want to sleep.

He was getting tired of the speeches and the lectures and the advice from Splinter and from Donatello. He was tired of the unreadable looks that Raphael kept sending his way. Raphael had not said anything.

Raphael was upset.

None of it helped. None of it was going to help.

Shredder had Leonardo.

Melissa Marshall was dead.

The whole world knew about them now.

Michelangelo had been appalled when he'd seen the very first newscast, the one starring Allan Marshall.

That one paled to insignificance, compared to the ones that followed over the next couple of days and kept him inside his shell.

They didn't know how, and April hadn't found out, but Shredder had a hand in the media reports, one way or another. Shredder had obviously primed Allan Marshall with all the right things to say, the same night he had killed his wife. And somehow, _somehow,_ the zoo's security system itself had been tampered with...

The police had descended on the zoo in short order, summoned by Allan Marshall himself. The media had been tipped off too, anonymous calls to every paper and television station in town, and that had to be the work of The Foot. Shredder had blown the whistle on them. Plain and simple. All material in the security archives at the zoo had been seized by the police, for further investigation.

That material had included one particularly damning videotape. It had been edited, doctored and spliced, because there should have been more to it than there was. It consisted of only a few seconds of footage and unfocused at that, footage of Michelangelo tearing across the dock of the building's service entrance and vanishing over the side. The gunfire wasn't there. The truck wasn't there. The Foot were not there.

Just him.

Just Michelangelo and a trail of his blood, enough to have been collected and analysed and to have been subsequently reported to the media as not being human in origin...

That report had killed the speculation, up to that point, that the events had been some sort of cover-up or elaborate hoax, revolving somehow around the homicide.

It had killed the speculation and given birth to a media sensation, the sort of thing that they had always hoped to avoid. The tabloids were full of it. There was video footage and actual physical evidence of some mysterious and obviously murderous non-human entity loose somewhere in the city's sewers - the trail of blood had pointed them in the right direction in that regard.

Allan Marshall was supporting the story too. The police had not granted the media access to the man again, but the statement they had released to the public had included a description of the creature that closely matched what the videotape had captured electronically.

The authorities were taking it seriously. Melissa Marshall's reputation had been impeccable. Those who knew her reported her to be down-to-earth, careful and methodical in her work, and if she had found something this highly unusual, it would have been in keeping with the quiet methodology to maintain the secrecy until she was sure of her findings. Even Allan Marshall had credentials. There was _belief..._

The city was taking action, assigning the Police and the Department of Public Works to investigate. The media was invited, on the condition that they would minimize the sensationalism, and there were also armed escorts, volunteers from the militia and the general populace.

Shredder had complicated their lives immeasurably.

They prepared for siege. Donatello and Casey took the initiative, scavenging old bricks and a bag of mortar, blocking up the entrance to the den and disguising the new masonry with a few buckets of sewer sludge, artistically sloshed. The entrance to the silt chamber received similar treatment, and they resorted to more circuitous crawl ways to come and go. It very nearly drove Casey mad, and he beat a hasty retreat topside as soon as the work was done, rather than remain entombed below the streets.

They had not lost their invisibility, not yet. They would go undetected. The city's underground was vast, and the searches that were being conducted were widespread but superficial. There were debates about the need, and the costs, and a whole plethora of related and unrelated social ailments that as many special interest groups thought took precedence. April was able to advise them of the general location of the sweeps being made. In fact, it was not official investigation that concerned them most...it was the investigations being made by members of the lunatic fringe that put the brickwork into place so quickly.

Their presence was being attributed to any number of interventions, ranging from the divine to the demonic, but most popularly, to extraterrestrial visitation. Those on the fringes not only believed, but came prepared, as heavily armed as the officials and likely to be a great deal less cautious and far more random in their searches.

Much of what appeared in the tabloids, under more normal circumstances, would have reduced the lot of them to gales of helpless laughter, if not outright hysteria.

But Leo wasn't there with them, and there was no hilarity in that. No more than there had been when they'd buried Melissa Marshall. The coroner's investigation had been simple and straightforward. No matter how complex the situation she'd been involved in, the manner of her death had been simplicity itself. The funeral was just as straightforward, a quiet, strictly family affair from which the media was excluded. The media did report from the sidelines, however, and was appealing to the public for assistance in locating the whereabouts of Doctor Marshall's daughter, missing since the incident and sought by the authorities for questioning, witnesses having said that she'd seen her mother that very day, if, in fact, she had not already met with a similar fate.

Megan had watched the reports, dry-eyed and grim, complaining only once about the quality of the photo that her stepfather had supplied to the authorities for public display and otherwise remaining silent on the matter of the burial. It was the demeanor she adopted, all silent, dry-eyed and grim, and Splinter was worrying about her, as were Donatello and Raphael. She had gotten her fair share of the consoling speeches, the well-meant advice and the unreadable looks too, and like Michelangelo, was tired of it all, retreating into the brass bed and sitting there with her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed absently on a stack of the mouldering paperbacks.

It was the state Michelangelo found her in, when he'd finally decided he couldn't stand it anymore, and gone to Don's room and put himself between the bed and the paperbacks, standing there, just waiting, until she had to look at him.

When she did, it was with another of the long and grim looks, one that he really thought he could have done without, and left him wondering why he'd bothered to come.

"It wasn't your fault," she said. "It wasn't, Mike." He looked around helplessly.

"But I should have-"

"No. You _were_ doing what she said. _Not your fault_. That's the end of it Michelangelo."

He let his shoulders slump, and came and dropped down hard on the edge of the bed. "You don't understand either."

She found something to stare at on her thumbnail. "Yeah, Mike, I think I do. And it's more than misery loves company too." Megan reached out and touched him on the nose, contact with a fellow sufferer. "It's more than my mother. There just wasn't anything you could have done. It's Leo now."

He wasn't able to hold her eyes, grim, but compassionate in that moment. It was too true. He was consumed by thoughts of Leonardo. And there was as much or more guilt for his failure to stop Shredder as there was for the failure to protect Melissa Marshall. He opened his mouth, but her fingers were right there and she shut it again before he had the chance to gape wordlessly, because he didn't have anything to say.

"I understand Mikie," she whispered. "They can't hurt my mother anymore. Whatever else you want to say, it was quick. She probably never knew what hit her. But that can't be said for Leonardo. I don't know Leo. I don't even know if I'll ever get the chance to know him now - and that hurts. More than I thought it would. I can imagine what it must be doing to you guys..." her voice faded into a brief silence.

"You want to talk about fault? You want to play 'What If'?. What if I'd told my mom what Allan had been doing, he'd have never shown up there at the zoo when Leo was hurt. The marriage would have been over - quick divorce for sure. She'd have had her feelings hurt, but she'd be alive right now. Maybe. What if Shredder had gone right for her throat then? Or mine? Without Allan around, I probably wouldn't have come with you down here, there wouldn't have been a reason. I don't know. But Allan and the twins wouldn't even have come into it. My mother and I might not have come into it. Might have moved out of the country again, if there'd been a divorce. Should I keep going Mike? Could go on playing 'What If' until morning. What if my mother hadn't been there that night? What if the crocodiles had come in the next morning? What if there just hadn't been anyone there to help Leo out? He'd have been gone, a week and a half ago and _none_ of this would have happened at all..."

He had just stared at her, listening to the hurt in her voice, a deep echo of what he was going through himself, her eyes a mirror of the suffering. She _did_ understand. She did. He still couldn't find any words, none came, and for Michelangelo that was a strange experience. Her fingers were still resting there on his nose, and he let one hand come up to squeeze hers and then he reached out and gave her a hug, one that she returned, long and inconsolable on both sides. It didn't change anything. It just made him decide that there was an awful lot of truth in the old adage.

Misery really did love company.

~o~

Nothing. Still, there was nothing.

April O'Neil was not even sure exactly what she was waiting for. She was staring out the windows of her corner office, the one that Charles had promised her and delivered before he'd packed up and moved to a less hazardous town with Danny all bundled up and sent ahead of him, a month prior to last Christmas. She missed Charles, more than she had thought that she would, and wondered idly who it was he was hitting on for dates now that she was safely buried in his past. The Foot had scared Charles Pennington badly, once he'd learned the full extent of what she had uncovered and what Danny had barely extricated himself from...

 _Smart Chuckie,_ she could not help thinking then. _Smarter than some of us..._

She would have to write to Danny, would have to let him know what was going on, hoped that it would all resolve itself into a happy ending. Danny wrote to her on a semi-regular basis, and he always asked how the guys were. She was surprised she hadn't received a call from Danny about the video clip...he would have recognized the alien creature for one of the Turtles, unfocused though the clip had been. It had made national news. Danny never had been much for current events though, and Charles wouldn't make the connection. Neither she or Danny had told him about the Turtles.

 _They're not good Danny. Not at all good._

April was sick with worry for Leonardo, and hurting for the rest of them, all of her Turtles, and Splinter too, cut to the quick and bleeding for their brother, who was beyond their help, as long as Shredder maintained his silence. It was worse, in a lot of ways, than it had been last year, when it had been Splinter gone missing. Splinter had been preparing them for his eventual absence for some time, even then, but with Leo it was different.

The Turtles were not and never had been prepared to be without one of themselves.

She was maintaining a scrapbook and busied herself with scanning through today's load of published nonsense concerning the Alien-In-The-Sewers-Affair. It was all so silly, so ridiculous, all so pointless. But there was not a single thing to be done except bear with it, unless it was to expose the real truth, and her friends had enough to deal with at the moment without even broaching that subject. Still, she was considering it, had it all planned out in her mind, the headlines, the text, the video footage. There was nothing mercenary about it. Their secret was out, to some degree, and April would much have preferred the truth to all the patent rubbish.

Things could get worse yet. She wanted to leave a record of some sort, had been contemplating it ever since they'd learned that Shredder was on the prowl again.

April was a target too, and she knew it. She had composed notes, put them in envelopes and almost gotten as far as a safety deposit box with them. But she had always torn them up, burned them or simply dumped the files from her word processor. Such notes had, in the final analysis, come to seem too much like self-fulfilling prophecies...

Now she was wishing it done. She would talk to Splinter, that was all, get his opinion. The circumstances were changed, certain attitudes were going to have to change too, if things went any further downhill.

Splinter would see the sense in it, pragmatic, when it came to rock bottom.

There was a tap at the wide window beside her door. April glanced up, and her heart skipped a beat. It was the kid from the mailroom, and he had a small package in his hands. She motioned him in, her pulse aflutter, smiled and thanked him for the delivery as she ushered him out with a kind banality. The package wasn't heavy, wasn't any bigger than a box of business cards might have been. April closed the door and punched the lock. She half-shut the vertical blinds lining the wide window, so as not to arouse suspicion about what she might/might not have been up to behind the closed doors...there were busybodies she would just as soon not alert at the moment-

 _This has got to be it._ April thought. _It's just gotta be._

Had anyone told her a month ago she'd have been looking forward to receiving a gift from the Shredder she would have killed herself laughing. She slipped her letter-opener carefully along the edge, loosened the paper wrapping to reveal a plain white box. She peeled the lid back. Inside, there was a neatly folded red headband, its embroidered glyph centered on the fabric that the open box had presented.

 _This is it!_

April's hands had gone sweaty. She picked out the headband, found a single sheet of folded paper under it.

She took that out too, hesitated for a moment before opening it to see just what it said. She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for Leo.

Then she leaned back in her seat with the note, and began to read.

~o~

It was a moment's pleasant sensation.

Splinter leaned his head into the hand that Megan McLaine had extended to scratch the sensitive spot behind his ear. He remembered Tang Shen, and times long ago, when such pleasantries had been a more common kind of occurrence. Tang Shen had been fond of him, and had, if he was quiet, sometimes allowed him to sit on her lap while Yoshi was out, and would pet him absently until Yoshi came home.

Things had been simple then. Yoshi and Shen and Splinter had been happy.

Oroku Saki had spoiled it all.

And thoughts of Oroku Saki spoiled it now, too.

Splinter let out a long sigh, and shook his head free of the idle and inattentive motions that Megan was still making with the fingers of one hand. It was another kind of commiseration for her, finding another suffering soul to sit near. Last night it had been Michelangelo, who had gone to her to apologize again - they had talked, and he had caught the gist of it because his ears were keen, but it had still had little effect on Michelangelo's dismal outlook. Michelangelo had stayed with her, drained and exhausted, until he'd fallen asleep. Splinter had gone to investigate that silence, and found Megan still there with him, sitting quietly with one hand laid on the Turtle's head and a deeply sorrowful expression in her eyes.

Splinter had retreated silently before she'd seen him and she had eventually slept too. He had told Donatello and Raphael to let them be...their brother needed the sleep and so did Megan McLaine. Raphael had nodded without expression and Donatello had shrugged...it was meaningless and they knew it. Ordinarily, discovery in such a state would have earned Michelangelo a merciless ribbing, but no one had even batted an eye when he'd later emerged, still disconsolate and extremely embarrassed and taken himself off to the silt chamber to sulk further.

Donatello had gone after him, and come back a bit later to shrug wordlessly at Raphael. Presently, those two were both digging, widening a crawl way, keeping themselves occupied.

Or that was what they _had_ been doing.

He still heard well enough, around the scratching, and there had been shouting. He would keep an ear out, but otherwise let the Turtles settle it their own way.

"Mike isn't handling this very well," Megan said.

"No. He is not." Splinter sighed again. "Michelangelo has never been hurt like this before. He feels responsible. He feels he has failed. And he is very worried about Leonardo, just as Donatello and Raphael are. They are all hurt."

Her hand drifted up to his ear again. "The other two seem to be coping all right."

Splinter looked down, found himself leaning into her hand again. "You have qualified that statement correctly...the key phrase is _'seem to be'._ They are hiding their pain better, that is all." The girl did not know the Turtles well enough to make such a judgement.

Donatello's frustrations had found an outlet in industry...the bricklaying had been distraction as much as necessity, and Donatello, looking for things to do after that, had started in on excavations that would widen the tunnel to the silt chamber for easier access now that they'd sealed up the sewer doorways. Donatello, always the rational one, knew there was nothing he could do to change the situation, so he went about doing something else. It was busywork though, all of it. And Raphael -

Raphael had gone all silent and unreadable and Splinter didn't like it. Raphael never bothered to hide his emotions. He never sat on them. If Raphael was happy, he smiled and laughed. If he wasn't, he frowned and growled. If enraged, he howled and stormed. Frustration he took out physically, on the punching bag or whichever of his brothers was willing to tangle with him. He was emotionally demonstrative, and would sometimes dish out hugs that later embarrassed him.

Splinter was not sure how to read Raphael's current impassive facade. It was frightening Michelangelo and confusing Donatello. He could not decide himself if it was a sign of an increased maturity or of a deep inability to deal with the situation at all. Splinter could well imagine the emotional warfare Raphael was going through. The rage and anger he was feeling for Shredder was up against the pervasive anguish and worry for Leonardo, the lesser but more immediate concerns for Michelangelo and to some degree, for Megan McLaine too.

Raphael was taking it all personally, and it was far too much for one lone and over-reactive Turtle to deal with.

"And what about Splinter? How's he holding up?" Megan asked him softly. "Who's taking care of Splinter?"

"Right now," Splinter responded. "You seem to be. Please, you must not mistake the Turtles, Megan, they are preoccupied. It is not that they do not care." It was another thing she could not guess at properly, as she did not know Leonardo.

The other three were presently lost and adrift...they had lost their compass -

"I didn't...that wasn't what I meant." The gentle scratching stopped. "They love you a lot. And Leo too."

"You are...perceptive."

"It's obvious." Megan shrugged the comment off. "I think...I think that's kinda nice to see," she added quietly, lowering her eyes and resuming the scratching again.

He remembered she had come from an almost intolerable domestic situation herself. There was a note of envy in the quiet tone, for something that she had lost, probably when her father had died, certainly when Melissa McLaine had remarried. Megan had gone to incredible lengths to preserve what she had left with her mother...

And lost that too.

Splinter reached up to take her hand, taking it from behind his ear to press it gently between his palms. "Your mother," he began. "Thought a great deal of you, Megan. She loved you. I do not think she had the chance to tell you that. That too, was obvious." Her eyes met his, clear and sane and steady.

"I know what you're trying to say...thank you. But we parted on good terms, and that might not have been obvious either, whatever the Turtles might have said about it. We had an understanding. Always did, I think. I don't have any regrets for things that either were or weren't said. That just wasn't the way we worked."

"Megan..." he said, with another earnest squeeze of his hands. "You _must_ grieve for her, you must not hold it back."

Her eyes came to his again. Sane and steady. "It's not time yet. There's too much upset around here as it is." She stopped for a deep breath, looked away, toward the tunnel that Raphael and Donatello were working on. "When my father died, I had to be the strong one. My mother was a wreck. I had to be strong for the both of us. If I could do it then, I can do it now. Don't think I'm not upset. I just can't go to pieces right now. It's that simple. There's too many more important things to consider right now. You must know that Splinter. You must."

She saw clearly. She thought clearly.

 _A core of steel_ , he thought again, recalling what he had said to Raphael about her, that first day she'd come into their den.

The right thinking. The girl was gifted.

"Megan McLaine," he told her softly. "When you are ready, I am here. We will leave it at that."

She managed a wan smile and squeezed his hands in response. "Okay." Then she pulled her hands free and reached up to his ears again. It almost seemed to be a compulsive action with her, that need to touch. Things had gone quiet once more from the direction of the silt chamber, had been quiet for some time now, in fact. He was going to have to speak to Michelangelo again, and Raphael, if Raphael would listen. _I must make them both listen_ , he thought, _they must-_

Splinter looked up, distracted all at once, as if he had heard a faint and distant noise. Then he knew, suddenly, what was going on in the silt chamber. It made his heart ache.

"Megan," he said, standing abruptly, shaking her off. "You must excuse me. The Turtles are-" it could not be explained, not easily, or quickly. "Excuse me, I must go to them." He bowed slightly, a courtesy he had learned from Master Yoshi, and did not neglect, even now, when he was in a hurry.

The Turtles were getting themselves straightened out. They needed their Master. And their Master, he wasn't at all ashamed to admit, needed them too...

~o~

He was angry, and getting angrier.

Physical exertion wasn't helping this time, and neither was the dirt that Raphael was getting in his eyes from all the digging.

"Don't do that Raph," Donatello cautioned. "Don't go so fast - you're gonna bring the roof down on us if you don't take it easy."

Raph paused, holding the swing he'd been about to make with the pick-axe at the dirt wall. He dropped it, and kicked it aside, stopping on the advice to shore up that part of the crawl way that he had dug out, bracing it with an old piece of timber. The timber was full of slivers, and he got one, painfully, into the palm of his hand as he shoved it into place.

 _"Son of a - "_ Raphael growled, spitting the invective. His mood hadn't improved any more than Mike's had. He moved nearer to the bare bulb hanging on the end of a long extension cord, the sole source of light that they were working by. It was hard to see the sliver, under the grime on his hands.

He _didn't_ need the additional irritation.

Donatello tossed his own shovel away, kicked at the loose dirt under his feet and sat down hard, putting his shell to the concrete slab that they had unearthed and which they were using as the left-hand wall of the tunnel. They weren't sure what edifice it had originally belonged to, nor did they care...it was just buried, and at the moment, convenient for them.

It wasn't like Don to quit in the middle of something. Don was frustrated too -

"Why are we doing this?" Raph demanded, and he put a lot of the hostility he was feeling into the question. He was still trying to fish the bit of wood out of his hand. There was dirt under his fingernails though, and he swore again when he failed to snag the tiny end of it. "Gonna need tweezers," he muttered.

"I don't know, Raph." Donatello answered him sourly. "For the fun of it maybe?"

"It'd go faster if Mike was in here."

"He wants to be left alone."

"And since when does Mike get whatever Mike wants?" He gave up on the palm. It didn't hurt _that_ much. Raphael looked over to where Donatello had planted himself, and moved to join him, sinking down next to his brother in the dirt, forcing himself into some semblance of congeniality. He was trying very hard not to give into the anger.

"What Mike wants is for the other night not to have happened. He wants Leonardo back. He wants Melissa Marshall to be alive instead of dead. Mike isn't getting much of anything that he wants right now Raph."

"Get serious Donnie! He can't have any of that - no more than we can."

"So we can let him alone, can't we?"

"Not doing him any favors by it."

"He'll come around," Don said. "Eventually. I've talked to him."

"Eventually?" Raph repeated. _"Eventually?_ How long do we have to wait? He's - "

"He's feeling guilty."

"You think I don't know that?!" Raphael picked up and hurled a rock down the dark tunnel. "I _know_ all about guilt!"

Don closed his eyes with a long sigh. There wasn't much to say.

Raphael understood about guilt. He'd gone through pretty much the same thing last year, when Splinter had gone missing.

Because Raphael had been the one that had unwittingly led The Foot Clan to the old den.

"No one said you didn't." Don said quietly. "But - "

"I didn't go catatonic!" Raphael had suffered from a severe inability to sit still for even five minutes. He remembered the ceaseless pacing around April's apartment, and fighting with Leo -

 _Leo..._ It hurt to the point of pain, when he thought about Leo. Raph was close to Leo, closer than he'd known, and Leo was gone, beyond his reach and help, trapped somewhere unknown and at the mercy of an enemy that possessed little, if any, of that quality at all.

"He's not catatonic, he's just - " Don's voice trailed off. There wasn't anything he could say that all of them weren't feeling to some degree. He heaved another sigh. "I'll talk to him again," he offered.

"It hasn't helped. Why bother?"

"Well, it's more than you've done!" Donatello picked up a stone of his own and whipped it after the one that Raph had tossed. "All you've done is scare him silly Raph, skulking around and staring at him! He thinks you're blaming him! Or didn't you stop to think about what you were doing - "

 _"He ought to know better!"_ Raphael was startled, lost his civilized veneer and dropped his voice to a hissing whisper. "I'll get him straightened out." Raph rolled to his feet. "Right now!"

"He's upset Raph, don't - "

 _"I'm upset too!"_ It only took a few wide strides for Raph to disappear into the darkened part of the tunnel, to where it narrowed back down to a crawlway.

 _"Raph!"_

He heard Donatello shouting after him as he went down onto his knees. Nobody had the monopoly on upset. He was upset, Don was upset. Of course Mike was upset, but so was Splinter, and Megan McLaine had more reason than all of them put together to be upset.

Raphael clenched his hand into a fist and pounded the dirt wall with frustration. He sucked air between his teeth in pain.

It hurt his hand, smacking the wall like that, because of the sliver in his palm. Raphael forced himself to relax, counted slowly until the anger receded and came under tighter control again. He did not want to lose his temper.

But he would, would let it go, if that was what it was going to take to put Michelangelo back into a proper frame of mind.

When Raphael reached the silt chamber, Michelangelo was still wallowing in his own little pool of misery and was showing no signs of snapping out of it. At least, they had tried. Mike had had every opportunity. But the initial speech from Splinter had only helped overnight. Don had tried the quiet, reasonable approach, to little avail. Meg had even talked to him. It was _his_ turn now, and his approach certainly wasn't going to be a subtle one.

Mike had taken to sleeping with his head retracted inside his shell, something Raph hadn't seen him do for a long time and something that Raph himself considered a bad sign. It was that damned ostrich attitude again...Michelangelo didn't want to face up to reality.

He knew how to fix that.

Raphael knocked on Mike's back, rapping his knuckles on the upper carapace, right behind the spot that Mike's head would be occupying an inch on the other side. "Com'on out of there Mikie. And I mean right now. No foolin', dude."

For a moment there was no response, other than a tightening of the muscles across Mike's shoulders. He wasn't sleeping. "What for?" came the muffled reply.

"I'm gonna talk to you, that's what for."

Mike came out far enough to give him a tired stare. "Don already did." Mike told him. "There's nothing to talk about, Raph. Just go away. I want to be alone." He obviously considered that the end of the discussion, and retreated inside the shell again.

But he wasn't dealing with Donatello this time.

Raphael took two steps back, all the space he needed. "Dammit Mikie, _I said come out of there!"_

Raphael sent a solid roundhouse kick at Michelangelo, one that took his brother off the top of the old pine bench against the wall of their exercise area and left him sprawled on the floor. Of course, Mike hadn't seen it coming.

Again, Mike came out far enough just to glare at him balefully, this time with his eyes narrowed and a plain _'no fair'_ written across his brow. He swore once and rudely, and started stubbornly back to where he'd come from.

But Raph wasn't having any of that nonsense. One hand shot out to grip the upper rim of Mike's carapace, centered behind the neck, his knuckles wrapped there and interfering with Mike's withdrawal sufficiently to make his brother growl low in the back of his throat. The growl just raised Raph's own ire, and he hauled Mike to his feet with a jerk.

 _"I said to come out of there!"_ Raph was snarling now, truly angered by the reaction. "You're _not_ gonna hide from this Mikie! We're going to get Leo and you're coming with us!"

"We don't even know where Leo is!" Mike belted his hand away from the shell, putting force into it.

"Doesn't matter. We'll find him."

"Oh. Will we? And just how the hell do you propose to do that?"

"Won't have to. _Shredder's gonna tell us where he is_. Shredder doesn't want just Leo - he wants all of us!"

"Wants us all dead!"

"We're going to get Leo back!"

 _"How?!"_ Mike was shouting now.

"I don't know and it doesn't matter! We'll get him!"

"Dead." Mike repeated. "Since when doesn't dead matter?"

Raphael hit Mike again, a quick punch to center-shell that put Mike's back against the wall beside the pine bench and pinned him there. He'd had enough of that sort of talk...Mike was not going to give Leo up like that, he was _not._

"Dead?" Raph echoed in a low monotone. "You want dead, Mikie?" The monotone didn't last, his voice started to climb in volume toward a shout. "You don't snap out of this and _I'm_ the one that's gonna take you apart and trade your useless carcass back to Shredder for Leo 'cause right now you're no damn good to me, and you're no damn good to Don and _you sure as hell aren't any damn good to Leo!"_ Raphael dropped him in disgust, turned and got as far as three angry strides away.

Michelangelo hit him hard from behind, a fierce tackle that took him to the brick floor in a movement that also fell under the general heading of No Fair. At the moment, Raphael didn't care about fair - it was the most action he'd seen out of Michelangelo in three days. He reacted in kind, because he was angry, and he wanted Mikie to be angry too. Mike needed a little rage therapy. Raph understood angry, better than any of his brothers - but especially better than Mike, who didn't deal well with his own violent emotions because he just didn't experience them often enough. Mike loved a good fight, yeah, but he seldom took one personally. He just didn't involve much of himself in any fight. Battle was very much a challenging and usually fun game for Michelangelo and it always had been.

Up until the minute that Shredder had made Leonardo the stakes in the game, and Mikie had lost the throw...

It was suppressed rage and it was deep hurt and it was raw frustration. Raph scuffled with Mike, expending his own anger in a few careful manoeuvres that kept Mike busy while still being cautious of the half-healed injury that Shredder had given him. Raph knew how to think through the anger, knew how to dissipate it, and when needed, how to use the energy. Mike didn't, and he wasn't fighting at all well, pounding and flailing at him with a surprising lack of co-ordination - Raph could see that Mike knew it too. That was a further frustration and one that pushed Mike right to the breaking point. He had gone past the thinking part and was into just _feeling_ now, an intense and painful place that Raph had been before. Mike's voice was rising, a guttural sound that was desperate wail as much as angry howl. He swung at Raph again, and Raph caught the arm to pull his brother into a headlock that fast became an expressive hug.

 _"Mikie,"_ he whispered, close to Michelangelo's ear. "I didn't mean it, Mikie...you know that. Wouldn't trade you for the whole damn world, dude."

The fight went out of Mike so suddenly that the hug literally became support as his legs buckled. _"Raph - "_ Mike's voice turned his name into a hoarse plea.

"It's okay, Mikie," Raph said quietly, rubbing the top of Mike's head, an action that was reassurance and acceptance and affection all at once. Mike buried his face into the crook of his elbow, wet with tears, his shoulders shaking and breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Raph - how are we gonna - "

"Told you already. Doesn't matter." Raphael interrupted. "But we need you, Mike. That matters. Can't get Leo back without you. _Can't._ You hear me Mikie? Leo needs you. And Don needs you. And so do I."

The shaking subsided slowly. "But - "

 _"Shut up."_ Raph cuffed him gently. "I don't want to hear it."

Raphael looked up, saw Donatello standing near the crawlway and couldn't guess how long he'd been there. Probably he'd heard the shouting, probably had been there nearly the whole time.

That didn't matter either.

Raph extended his other arm, and Donatello came, no less hurt and suffering than they were, and made it a three way embrace. It was too easy sometimes to forget about Don, who was always the quiet one, unobtrusive and rationalizing his emotions into his own idea of the proper perspective. It was easy to overlook Don because Don was always there. Donatello was their anchor in any storm, solid ground beneath their feet. You could lean on Don and never know it, Raph realized, and he'd been leaning heavily, needing that support.

They sank to the bricks, all three of them, into a tangled heap of limb and shell, drawing their heads together in a silent, mutually supportive huddle. No one spoke. It was all touch, all eye contact - they were beyond that need for words.

Raphael felt that understanding, recognized and drew on his brothers' strengths and forgave their weaknesses, just as they did his. Splinter had talked about this, about _needs_ before, but it was one of the first times they'd ever had to put it into practice.

It hurt, without Leo there, but it helped immeasurably too.

Raphael lost all sense of time and didn't care. They would take as long as they needed.

They knew what had to be done next.

"Hey dudes," Mike whispered, after a long while.

"Let's concentrate," Don added quietly, a common thought at that moment.

 _"Leo."_ Raph breathed, finishing it.

The three Turtles focused, pooling all their skill and resources, and then went hunting for their lost brother in the only effective way they knew how...

~o~

The room was small. There were no windows and only one heavily barred door. The walls were old brick, a non-descript gray in color and they were still partially covered with crumbling plaster. There was no ceiling to speak of - it was open, all duct-work, wiring and pipes against a background of rafters darkened with age. The duct-work was a recent addition and it included a large vent that obviously belonged to the air conditioning system. A steady stream of cooled air had been blowing across Leonardo's shoulders ever since he'd regained enough lucidity to realize it and probably long before that too.

Leo felt sluggish. He still hurt, but the pain had become a deep, dull and distracting ache now, rather than the knifing fire he recalled from a few days back. That it had been a few days was purest speculation...he didn't know how long it had been because he had lost all track of time in the sleep and the haze of sedation. He didn't know if it was night or day and there were no clues to guess by in this place.

He wanted to sleep. The cold air made him want to hibernate. The chill environment didn't discomfort him the way it might have bothered a human, but it was an inconvenience and a potential hazard because it slowed his reflexes considerably. Not that his reflexes were worth a damn at the moment in any case...he wasn't fit to fight or to flee. He was weak. He was hungry. He was thirsty too. And in light of those conditions he decided that the cold was a blessing - the lower metabolic rate reduced his need for sustenance.

It was the only positive thought that had come to him.

Leo was frightened. To fight and/or to flee weren't even options because he was under chained restraint in spite of his physical state.

Shredder had taken him prisoner.

It was like a long, drawn out nightmare. He knew that he'd been drugged, heavily, in retrospect. On waking, he'd felt extremely strange, experiencing a neither here nor there suspension of rational thought and emotional response that had left him indifferent to his change in fortune for some time.

Shredder had come, and stood, just watching him, and at first, it hadn't bothered him at all. Tatsu had come and gone. Black Foot Clan dogi were the common uniform. He'd even been seeing double at one point, in some hallucinatory fashion, because the images he'd seen had moved independently.

He missed the heat lamps, and wondered whatever had happened to the nice lady Doctor and to Splinter and to his brothers. He wanted to know how he'd come to be in Shredder's possession at all. Leo was certain that he'd heard someone telling him that he was going to go _home_...

But he _didn't_ know, and that made him more afraid. Shredder was involved, and that meant murder and mayhem. Death and destruction. As an enemy, Shredder was not subtle. Someone had been with him all the time. Someone that Shredder would have had to get past, somehow. And had.

 _And had_ -

Leo let his gaze wander across the ceiling again, trying to lose the fear in the maze of ducts and wiring and pipes, or at least to lose the thinking about it. The ventilators hummed monotonously and he concentrated on the steady, white noise of the air-conditioning. He focused on clearing his mind of the creeping despair that was threatening to overtake his thinking. Splinter would have advised it.

The pipes made him think of home.

 _Home and home and home-_

It hit him like a hammer-blow when he realized why, and he concentrated all the harder.

Oh, it was _Them!_ It was Mike and Don and Raph!

They were out there, all three of them, they were all okay and they were reaching for him and -

It hurt. Oh it _hurt_ because he wasn't there with them. He could sense them, every one distinctly, each easy to identify. Don, solid as a brick wall. Mike, the free spirit among them. And Raph. Behind them both, Raphael, who was the powerhouse -

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the hurt, willing himself to be elsewhere, needing what his three brothers were trying to send, feeding him strength and hope and -

Multiple bolts crashed and the door opened, a hammer-blow of a different sort that jerked his attention away and brought the fear back to haunt him. He lost contact and wanted to moan.

It was Shredder. Accompanied this time by a man with an icy stare and a professional detachment about him that was another kind of scary again. That one began to unpack the kit he'd dropped from over one shoulder, the nature of which he realized when he saw the syringes and the vials and the assortment of small glass tubes...

Leo swore inwardly, even as he began to fortify his will against whatever the oncoming assault was going to entail.

Shredder was scrutinizing him, watching his eyes carefully.

Leonardo met the gaze, and didn't flinch. He held it for some time, damned if he would lose a staring match...

Shredder approached him slowly, his arms folded and one finger tapping the side of a razor-edged spine on the opposite forearm guard. The staring bout endured, even when Shredder stopped the tapping and stretched out the long blades of that particular gauntlet to position them over the damaged area of his shell. The tips of the blades touched lightly, without pressure. Leo still refused to break the eye lock, even when the pressure began to climb gently, sharpening the dull ache and rekindling the fire in his gut.

 _Oh damn it all to hell, doesn't the bastard ever blink?_ Leo kept his expression impassive, and took another tack.

"What do you want, Shredder?"

One of Shredder's eyebrows went up, and then he did blink, moderately surprised or maybe amused by the directness of the question. It ended the eye lock and the pressure ceased as Shredder turned to pace around the table to which he was so very well secured.

"Why, mutant," Shredder said mildly. "I have come to inquire as to your comfort. Is there anything I can get for you?"

 _Oh, sure_. Leo thought, knowing much, much better than that. "Pizza'd go down kinda nice," he responded amiably.

The eyes went quizzical, only for an instant, as if Shredder couldn't decide if he was serious or not. The pacing continued. Then Shredder went on, as if the first question had never been posed.

"Leonardo," he addressed him again, very softly.

 _He knows my name!_ A chill went through Leonardo. _How!?_ He had too many questions lacking answers, and he did not want to ask, did not want Shredder to know just how desperate he really was to know...

"As to what I want, mutant," Shredder stated, and paused, meeting his eyes again. "I want a great many things. Most of them you will give to me, one way or another. And not the least of those things is information."

Leo's only response was to clamp his mouth shut tightly.

The action made Shredder smile behind the mask - his eyes showed it, humour there in their dark brown depths. "The information I seek now," Shredder told him, "I doubt that you possess. I doubt it very much. Nevertheless," he continued, making another circuit of the table. "I will have answers, mutant, and you will supply the raw materials for the research that will provide them."

 _Research!_ Leo understood then just why that other man was there, waiting patiently over in the corner with his kit in hand.

Shredder was limping.

Leo thought again of his brothers, wondered what exactly had happened and which of them had been with him. He knew now that they were all right, all of them, and that they were together. The knowledge had removed one of the bigger fears - that perhaps Shredder had taken more than one of them captive. _Raw material._ Leo did not like the sound of that. No, not at all...

"As to the information you do possess," Shredder went on casually. "You can put your mind at rest. I am not going to trouble you with questions about where your friends might be found. I have no need of such answers."

Shredder paused, waiting, but Leo did not rise to the bait, did not ask why Shredder did not want to know.

"Another thing, mutant, that I want, is to re-unite you with your companions. I should think that you would like that."

 _He's limping._ And he was trying hard to disguise the limp too. _He should quit pacing around if he doesn't want it to be so obvious_ , Leo thought.

"Leg hurt, Shredder?"

The pacing stopped abruptly, fire springing into the eyes. Rage, in fact. Oh yes, that was a sore spot for sure.

One of his brothers had been responsible for the limp then, beyond question. Leo struggled to recall who had been with him, but it was all such a blur. _Who? Who had it been? Dammit, Leo, think!_

Mike. It had been Mike. Mike came immediately to mind - Leo adjusted his expression to one of mock sympathy. "Took a 'chuk, huh?" he commented. "Yeah, that _would_ hurt - lucky you didn't break someth - "

Shredder's fist came down hard on his chest, not over the damaged plate directly, but with force enough to send his whole system into shock. The previous gentle pressure had brought fire - the solid thump that Shredder treated him to now was enough to trigger a violent explosion of pain that sent his mind reeling into transient darkness. Then there were lights and colors, dancing and glinting off of the metallic surfaces of the helmet and the faceplate looming close over Leo's face.

 _"Do not be flippant with me, mutant!"_ Shredder hissed at him, dangerous and low. "I have already extended an invitation to your friends to meet with me, to affect an exchange. An exchange of your precious self for other, more desirable commodities which they have appropriated. Do _not_ provoke me, mutant! Otherwise they will come to find only a corpse for their troubles - or does the term _vivisection_ hold no meaning for you?!"

It did. And Leo had difficulty suppressing the shudder that went through the nausea and the dizziness. It was not bluff. Shredder meant it. Such threats were valid, here in this place.

"You won't trap them!" Leo managed to gasp. He was having trouble drawing air in. The knives were back again, stabbing at him. "You won't Shredder! They'll never trust you enough to - "

"It is not a matter of trust!" Shredder interrupted him in a tone that cut like sharp ice. "Trust and honour are not even going to enter into it! They will come, and they will bring all that I have asked. And then, mutant, then I will have _everything._ " The mask came very close to his snout, the eyes boring holes in him. "Everything, Leonardo," Shredder added, very softly. "And you will not have to die all alone..."

Shredder straightened, to look down at him from what seemed a very great height. It was not possible to keep the fear out. Leo went cold and sick with it, knowing that Shredder meant every word. It was true. His brothers, Splinter, Casey and even - _oh, hell_ \- even April, would come. Every one of them, would come, would try anything to redeem him...

He would have, for any one of them.

Shredder knew it. Shredder turned, leaving him to think about it, leaving the room as the professional with the kit closed on him, backed up by two large and burly Foot in their black dogis.

He clung to the knowledge that his friends would know it as well, and take precautions, but there was a certain hopelessness in that too. The one and only effective precaution would be not to come at all.

And that, Leo knew, was the one thing they would _not_ do...

~o~

 _"No - dammit!"_ Raphael wanted to wail aloud. They had found and then lost Leonardo, found him and then -

"He's okay." Donatello said. "He's still okay." His voice was weak with relief, quiet like Don usually was but there was a tremor in the tone that wasn't normally there. _Okay_ was a relative concept right now, under the circumstances.

"He's scared," Mike added. They had all felt that. "Leo's scared!" It wasn't an easy thought.

 _Leonardo_ and _scared_ together in the same sentence was a contradiction in terms.

"I - " another voice began from behind them. "I would be even more worried if Leonardo was _not_ frightened - "

Raph looked up. Splinter was approaching their huddle with slow, almost hesitant steps, as if he didn't want to intrude.

"Master..." Raph whispered, and they made room for him, opening their tight little circle to include Splinter, who was suddenly looking old and frail and as badly in need of support as they all were. _Suffering too_ , Raph thought. _Why do we always expect Splinter to be so immune to it all?_ "Master, we found him, we found Leo, but - "

The huddle closed again. Splinter touched them, was hugged and touched in return. "My sons," he whispered. "Ah, my sons, you surpass me...you have done what I have feared even to try, in seeking Leonardo like this - "

Michelangelo was gripping one of Splinter's hands tightly. "No, Master - don't even say that! You're not afraid of anything, Master Splinter!"

It was something else that Mike didn't really want to face up to, that Splinter wasn't so young anymore, not what he used to be...there was gray in the whiskers, more than even Raph had realized. That was not an easy thought either. He blinked once himself, forced another look at Master Splinter and saw _age_ there. It was more than the winter and the working over that Splinter had gotten from The Foot. It was mortality slapping him in the face again.

"Michelangelo - " Splinter murmured Mike's name softly, returning the pressure in the hand that was squeezing his own. "Michelangelo, you overestimate me. I have been in Shredder's keeping. All our fears for Leonardo are warranted and I _am_ afraid - "

 _"We're gonna get him back!"_ Raphael hissed, interrupting Splinter, which was something he never did. "We'll get Leo out of there!"

"We'll bring Leo home." Donatello repeated the intent, quietly again, but with conviction. "Shredder's _not_ gonna keep him."

Splinter let out breath. "My sons, we do not know - "

"Doesn't matter!" Michelangelo burst out, startling Raphael with the force he put into the denial. Raph wanted to hug him. "We'll find him. We will, Master."

There was pain in the soft brown eyes. Splinter's gaze went around the tight circle, blinking back moisture at all of them. "I am coming with you," he said.

A hundred objections leapt to the fore of Raph's mind, a hundred different and every last one of them valid reasons why Splinter should not come, but they were all wiped out by a single, overriding thought.

They would go to get Leonardo back, him and his brothers. Nothing, _nothing_ , would prevent them, unless it was the thought that perhaps none of them might come back and thereby leave Splinter alone. That was there, in their Master's eyes, that the attempt might well prove suicidal, impossible, for all their willingness and conviction to succeed. It was Shredder they were dealing with, dangerous at the best of times, but surely lethal, when in a position with a winning advantage from the start. Splinter hardly wanted to lose them _all..._

No, Splinter was not immune to the suffering, not at all, but was torn with anguish between sacrificing Leonardo or sacrificing the lot of them for little more than the slimmest of hopes that they might win Leonardo back.

But still, he was going to let them go, because to stop them would only be to give them a long life of agonizing doubt - they would not have _tried -_

 _I am coming with you._

It was the only thing Splinter could have said, and it had been heartfelt and deep. For him to stay behind would just have been a different and much slower kind of suicide.

Don was the first to lean forward and throw his arms around the old Rat, burying his snout in the relatively thick fur at the back of Splinter's neck. Mike's head butted into their Master's chest and Raph had to settle for flinging his arms around the whole lot. They would get Leonardo back, all of them.

Or they would die trying, that was all there was to it.

He was not sure just how long it lasted. Forever, and yet not long enough. Only until there was noise from the direction of the crawlway. Raphael looked up, having the best vantage, there on the outside of the huddle.

April had come, was just standing up, brushing loose dirt from her jeans. Meg was behind her, glancing uneasily toward their group, worried about intruding, from the look on her face. There was another someone he was going to have to talk to, he thought, but the grim set of April's face pulled his attention that way. She had something in her hand. A small package, and a red headband.

Raphael nudged the huddle apart with his heart beating furiously.

Shredder had finally broken his silence. April had the message, the one that Raphael had told Michelangelo they could expect. They were ready now, for whatever Shredder had in mind.

"Where?" Raph asked from across the brick floor, cold and steady, in spite of his racing pulse. "When?"

"Quarantine building, back at the zoo. Saturday night." April answered, her own voice set and determined,

Raph glanced once around the loosening huddle, met all the other eyes there as the information was digested. When he spoke, it was for the entire group.

"He's got himself a date."

~o~

Even tweezers didn't suffice.

Raphael frowned and swore tamely, the mild invective a reflection of his improved mood. The day had proven highly cathartic for just about everyone. But the sliver of wood was still embedded in his hand and it had worked its way more deeply into the center of his palm. It was bigger than he'd thought once he'd rinsed the dirt away, and the palm was starting to throb around it. He shouldn't have left it for so long, but there had been too much happening to worry about an inconsequence like a sliver...

He knew better than to ignore it though. Trivialities, in the sewers, could sometimes have very serious consequences. He hadn't forgotten the time that Leo had managed to get a tiny piece of metallic shrapnel into his heel and had left it too long before bringing it to anyone's attention. They'd only been eight, and Leo hadn't thought that it was important. The foot had festered and swollen and he'd given himself a nasty case of blood poisoning. Leo had been real sick with it, and Raph still remembered the lecture that they'd collectively received from Splinter on the subject.

Raphael wanted the sliver out. It was going to interfere with the way he handled his sai and he was going to need every bit of skill he possessed, come Saturday night. Splinter had already gone to bed though and he didn't want to wake him - Splinter was just as emotionally drained as everyone else, and he felt it more these days. Splinter would need the rest, especially if he wanted to -

 _What's the matter with me? Splinter's not the only one that can handle this._

And he wanted to talk to Meg anyway.

He found her in the brass bed, mulling over printouts again. At the moment, Don was bunking in with Mike, and both of them were asleep. Michelangelo needed it - he'd missed far too much sleep over the past few days. Don had been sleeping badly too, and he hadn't been alone in that. Raph was tired. He wanted to get the sliver taken care of and hit the sack himself.

She looked up from the printouts when he appeared there beside the privacy screen, gave him a tiny smile in greeting. "Hi," she said. "What's up, Raph?"

He looked down at his palm. "Got a sliver I can't get out," he began. "I thought that maybe - "

Megan abandoned the paper and came to see, taking his hand and pulling him nearer to one of Don's reading lamps. She angled the palm up to examine it. "I'll say. That's a serious sliver. When'd you get it?"

"This afternoon. Haven't had a chance to dig it out." Fighting with Mike probably hadn't helped, other than to drive the thing in further.

"Looks more like you've been trying hard to do just that - " she murmured. "Put any antiseptic on it?"

"Not yet."

"Com'on." Meg kept a hold on the hand, and took him back to the bathroom. She found the tweezers he'd left lying in the sink and twirled them at him in silent admonition. She guessed, correctly too, that he hadn't sterilized them.

He shrugged. "I never claimed to be a surgeon."

"Hmmm. Neither have I." She rummaged into two of the boxes her mother had sent, came up with everything she needed. She swabbed the palm with alcohol, and made him hold a clean piece of gauze over it as she took a minute to sterilize the tweezers and the small object she identified for him as a lancet when he asked her what it was. She pulled him into the best light when she was ready, and told him to hold still.

He did, as she carefully nicked the skin over the sliver and just as carefully extracted the bit of wood. She swabbed it again, doubled-checking to see that she'd gotten all of it. Then she applied a small blob of antiseptic ointment that was covered with another bit of gauze and a band-aid.

"Let me know if it still feels swollen by morning," she said, finishing up. "It should just scab over. If it doesn't, you might need an antibiotic."

"Okay." Raph looked at her, smiled a bit. "Thanks."

"Hey, no charge." She shrugged it off and lapsed into silence as she picked up the bits of cotton and gauze and paper wrapping from the band-aid for disposal.

"Meg." Raph had no idea just what it was that he wanted to say, only that he wanted to straighten her out, like Mikie.

She stopped, with her hand halfway to the garbage pail, hearing the suddenly serious tone that he'd used. She hesitated to look at him, finished tossing the stuff out.

Her eyes came up to his. "Yeah?" she said. "What?"

"I just - " he failed for words. Her gaze was steady, and so was her voice. He wondered what he thought he was going to tell her...she was handling the whole thing just fine on her own. "I'm...sorry about your Mom. We all are."

Meg flinched. She always did, at any mention of her mother.

"Yeah. I know. I know that, thanks, Raph. I'm sorry too." She shrugged, then took a deep breath. "I appreciate it," she added, because she seemed to think he was waiting for her to say something.

She was uncomfortable, and turned to leave, to escape whatever he was going to say next, but Raphael caught her by the hand and didn't let go, even when she tried to pull out of it.

"Meg." He repeated her name. "Meg...are you...okay?"

She knew exactly what he was getting at. Her back stiffened, and she drew air in again, only there was a shudder in it this time. "No," she admitted. "No, I'm _not_ okay. And I'm not gonna be, not for a long while." She turned to face him. "Let me go, Raph."

Her eyes were still dry. But her voice had gone shaky and so had her hands.

"Megan, you can't-"

 _"Yes, I can!"_ She squeezed her eyes shut and hissed at him through clenched teeth. "Don't. _Don't_ push me, Raph. It's hard enough and I've gone through this with Splinter once already."

"But, Meg-"

 _"Let go!"_

It was only a harsh whisper, but she put force enough into it that it sounded like a shout. He loosened his grip, let her fingers slide from his as she moved for the doorway again.

He was realizing that she wasn't like Michelangelo, had not been blocking the situation at all, but had been dealing with it in her own quiet and probably effective way. He recalled what Splinter had said about her, how Allan Marshall hadn't ever broken through the steel, how she had that wisdom beyond her years. She'd lost a parent once before, had likely learned something about how to cope with such a loss.

It all came back, and he felt like an idiot, had been working at her with a can opener and thrown into disarray something that she had already put in proper order.

 _Who the hell do I think I am?_

He wanted to apologize, but 'sorry' seemed so pitifully inadequate. And so he said nothing, wishing that he hadn't at all.

She stopped in the doorway, paused there uncertainly for a moment. He looked down at the floor, and didn't see it when she turned, but heard her as she came back toward him, looked up only when she picked up his hands again.

This time there were tears there.

 _Now I've done it.._...he moaned inwardly. _Now I've-_

"Meg...it's okay, Meg..." he whispered. Her hands were still shaking. She tried to blink back the wetness, tried to look elsewhere -

She pulled her hands out of his again. But this time she didn't bolt for the door. Instead she reached up and put her arms around his neck to hug him hard and bury her face in the space between his shoulder and carapace. "Raph - " she sniffed loudly.

"Yeah. What?" he asked back, keeping his own voice steady, trying to be the solid rock that she needed him to be.

"I've -I've changed my mind," she said, with her voice quavering. " _Don't let go_..."

And then Megan McLaine wept, letting the grief out while he patted her back and tried to make it better. It should have been April she was crying on, April or Splinter, somebody, _anybody_ , but some big, stupid Turtle who'd asked for it without any comprehension what he'd been getting into - he hadn't been at all prepared for _this-_

He heard himself murmuring sympathetic nonsense, couldn't even recall afterwards what he'd said, and thought that whatever it had been, he'd probably said it badly.

But he didn't let go.

~o~

It was Leo's war room.

Donatello was sitting in it, staring at the chalkboard that they'd found in a junk yard in two large and roughly triangular pieces and which he and Leo had re-framed in plywood and mounted against the brick wall at the distant end of the silt chamber. A motley assortment of old kitchen chairs were scattered around the immediate area of the 'table' which was another piece of scavenged plywood balanced atop a pair of rusted, two-drawer file cabinets that had come from the same junk yard. Leonardo had filled them with a raft of city maps and sewer schematics that April had provided over a period of months and after several trips to the Public Library and/or the City Clerk's Office. Leo guarded them carefully, knowing the time and trouble April had gone to in order to get them.

Donatello had raided one of the other drawers, hunted up a box of chalk and spent the last hour carefully drawing up a schematic of the quarantine building from memory, sketching both bird's eye and cutaway views of the place that Shredder had dictated as a rendezvous point. He had his feet up on the table, and was drumming his fingers idly on one kneecap as he studied his handiwork in the solitude of the early morning. Everyone else had been asleep when he'd gotten up himself, even Mikie, which had been a pleasant change. Raph had gotten Mike straightened out yesterday, had gotten the lot of them turned around and it was time to do something constructive, now that they knew what Shredder wanted.

He did not expect the solitude to last, and it didn't. Michelangelo came drifting in with a half bag of apples in hand, and pulled up a chair too. "Mornin'." He muttered with a yawn. "What's up Donnie?" Mike asked, between apples.

Donatello helped himself to one. It was so good to see Mike eating again, and behaving in a more or less normal fashion. "Plannin'," he replied, with his own mouth full. "Gotta have a plan."

"No we don't."

Don looked around. Raphael was up and had just put in an appearance too. Raph still looked tired, looked almost as if he hadn't slept yet. His tone was a bit sour.

"We don't need a plan." Raph repeated.

Mike threw an apple at him. Raph caught it with deft expertise.

"Raph," Don began patiently. Raph had a grouch on for sure. "We need a plan."

"Okay." Raphael bit the apple. "You want a plan? I'll give you a plan." He walked over to the chalkboard.

"Don't you dare erase that!"

But Raphael did anyway, very much to his consternation. Raph picked up a scrap of chalk, scrawled a few words in bold print.

GET LEO. GET OUT.

Raphael tossed the chalk away and pulled up a chair at the table to finish the apple and lay claim to another one out of the bag before Mike ate them all.

 _"That,"_ he announced, "Is the plan."

"This does not fit my definition of a plan." Don said drily, still annoyed by the loss of the diagrams. But it was by far more typical behavior from Raphael, and that was as good to see as it was coming from Michelangelo. He wasn't going to start a fight over it.

"So tell me what you want to plan for. We know where we have to be, when we have to be there and what we're supposed to bring. It's all planned already, Don."

"Shredder's gonna be there."

"Yep. Him and every available ninja in town and probably a few that he'll import. Told ya, it's planned already. That," he thumbed a gesture at the words on the chalkboard behind him. "Is all we've got to do."

"Dare I say it?" Donatello heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes back. "You can go ahead and call that a plan if you want to Raph, but _that-_ -" he thumbed a gesture of his own at the chalkboard, "Is much easier said than done."

"Did I say it would be easy?" Raph retorted. "Mikie, did you hear me say that this would be easy?" He got up again, began to pace the floor area between the table and chalk board. Something was eating him.

Michelangelo's eyes slid from Raph to him and then back. "Nope."

"Okay. You didn't say it would be easy. But-"

Raphael threw the apple core at him. "You want details?"

"A few would be kinda nice, yeah. I'd like details." Everything that Raph had just said was true. but Don still didn't want to do this thing Raph-Style, which was to forge ahead recklessly, bold beyond belief, and improvise as he went. It didn't always work.

Don had heard the story, from Casey's point of view, just how things had gone in the park the night that Raph had encountered him - and it hadn't been in Raph's favor.

"Okay, so we're all going. You, me, Mikie, for starters. Splinter and Casey and probably even April."

"And me." Megan said as she arrived. "Don't forget about me."

Raph had still been pacing, and stopped to turn and look at her when he heard her voice. "You can't come, Meg." He shook his head emphatically, "It'll be too dangerous."

Don turned around too. Megan just stared at Raphael for a second, then looked past him to the chalk board. She looked as tired as Raph did, and a bit puffy around the eyes. _Finally did some crying_ , Don guessed. Her features were still grim. "Mornin' Meg," he said, and took his feet off the table, because it wasn't a very polite place for them to be. "Want an apple?" There was still one left in the bag.

"Huh?" She looked at him, as if she hadn't been listening. "Thanks, no. Not too hungry right now." Then her gaze went right back to Raphael. "April's going, isn't she?" She didn't sit down.

"April," Raph told her flatly. "Is Leo's friend. It's too dangerous. No."

Donatello winced. _What a thing to say, Raph!_ Probably he didn't realize just how that had come across. _I'll kick his butt for that..._

Megan blinked. Her shoulders fell. But she let the comment go, no doubt considering the source. She was a reasonable judge of character, had them mostly figured out by now. "You might want a medical opinion. I'd like to come." Megan insisted.

She had bulldozed through her mother and into the sewers and was obviously intent on bulldozing her way back to the quarantine building. Don thought that was a valid point.

"Might just," Mike said. "We don't know what kind of shape Leo'll be in, Raph. I think - "

 _"No!"_

Mike shut his mouth, but cast a questioning glance his direction. Don was just opening his mouth, but Megan beat him to it.

"April's going," she repeated. "If it's so dangerous, why's April going?"

"I just told you Meg, April's our friend. Forget it."

He might as well have thrown a sai at her. Donatello got to his feet slowly, getting angry. Michelangelo already was, and had moved an awful lot faster, like Raph, insofar as he didn't always stop to think about what he was going to say or do.

 _"Raph!"_ Mike was on that side of the table and it only took one wide step for him to grab Raphael by the arm and jerk him hard around. "I think I liked you a whole lot better when you were keeping your mouth _shut!"_

Don's attention had gone the same direction that Mike's had...he had only noticed Meg's reaction peripherally. She had stiffened, and stared, wordlessly. _He didn't even hear himself. Again!_ he thought, angrily. He was mad now. _We'll apologize! He'll apologize for that one!_ Donatello was aghast and embarrassed, and he hadn't said a single word.

To Raph's credit, Don saw that he was startled by Mike's reaction. It said that Raph really hadn't been listening to himself and really didn't know what he'd just said to the girl.

April was their friend and Megan wasn't. That was what he'd just told her, and in terms that had been plain enough too...

He was realizing it now. Raph's face had gone blank and he'd squeezed his eyes shut in mute self-recrimination even before Don got close enough to shout something angry of his own.

Raph knew what he'd done. "Oh, _dammit_...tell me I didn't just say that!" he moaned.

"You did!" Don hissed at him. He had more to add, more to say, but wasn't sure he wanted to say it in front of Megan and decided all at once that he would save it for later. He spun. "Meg, he didn't - " But Megan wasn't there anymore. Don swore. She must have _run_ to have vanished that quickly.

Raphael shoved them both aside. "Get out of my way!"

"You'd better get that fixed Raph!" Mike's tone was threatening. "Don't come back until you do either!"

"Make sure." Don added. "And do it right!" He wasn't sure that Raph had even heard the last of it...Raph had left them, running himself. "Gonna peel his shell off..." he mumbled.

 _"We,"_ Michelangelo corrected him. "Are gonna peel his shell off." He let out an exasperated sigh. "If," he added, as an afterthought, "If she leaves any of it intact."

Don withheld comment. That was a little too optimistic. He suspected that there was more hurt there than anger. Something of both, yeah, but anger wouldn't have left her running like that. Hurt wasn't something that Meg needed any more of.

"Damn," he murmured.

~o~

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it just wasn't _fair!_

Megan did not remember turning to bolt, did not recall the sprint that she'd made as far as the crawlway and afterwards had only a vague memory of throwing herself into the darkened tunnel before her vision went all blurry with the tears that had sprung into her eyes. It was dark, it didn't matter. She just moved, and she moved faster when she heard Raphael shouting after her from the tunnel's end a few seconds later.

She did _not_ want to talk to Raphael.

She didn't stop and she didn't answer him. There was a lump in her throat, one that she was having a hard time swallowing.

 _I'm too touchy, that's all, that's all it is, that's - dammit it's not fair! He can't tell me what to do!_

He was catching up, could move a whole hell of a lot faster than she could and knew the turf better too...the lump grew, she felt something like panic, was going to have to have a fight that she didn't want -

"Wait up Meg, I'm sorry!" he shouted after her "I didn't mean that! I didn't mean-"

Megan yelled incoherently when his hand closed on her ankle, and kicked to free it. "Not fair!" They were the first words to get past the lump. "Don't touch me!" She had wanted to scream, but only squeaked. She didn't seem to have enough air to scream the way she wanted to. Those tears were still there. She was dangerously close to weeping again, and didn't want that. Not even after last night, which had been Raph's fault too...

"I didn't mean it Meg!"

 _"Let me go!"_ It was a shout that time, she'd found that much air. "You said it twice! _Twice,_ Raph! And I'm not deaf!" He was still hanging onto the ankle. She kept kicking, futilely, because he was still built like Conan. " _It's not_ _fair!"_

"Meg!" Raphael's voice rose, hit a strained note. "Where do think you're going, Meg?"

"Who the hell wants to know? Take your hands _off_ of me!" He finally let go. She scrambled forward, brushed her eyes clear and found that she'd made it as far as the passage that forked to the left and went outside, eventually. "I'm just leaving! You won't have to worry about me anymore!" She took that left-hand step, but the tears all came back and so did the lump.

"You can't just leave, Megan! You can't!"

"Says who?!" She finally spun on him, and he stepped back when her hand came up in a fist and pounded his shell. "Who says I can't?!"

"But..." the blow hadn't hurt him a bit. "But that's not fair," he told her in a hurt tone. "You haven't said goodbye and they - "

"You can tell them."

He looked over his shoulder. "They don't deserve that. I do maybe, but not them...it wasn't their fault."

She had taken a couple of angry strides, and stopped. He sounded very penitent. She pulled in a deep breath.

"You don't even have your stuff, Meg."

"I'll manage without it."

"Meg...that's just - silly. That's not any kind of sense. And you...you _don't_ have to go anywhere."

"Don't I?" Megan swung around again. He would miss it, miss entirely the point that she was trying to make.

"No!" Raphael stepped toward her. "I said I was sorry-"

 _"You're impossible!"_ She turned again, stalked away. "Don't you talk to me about sense!"

"It's not sense to - "

"I'm going to be there! I know the way and you can't stop me!"

"Meg!" That really seemed to bother him. "Meg, no!" She didn't respond, just kept going.

There was desperation in his voice as he followed her. He got another grip on her arm. "You can't, Meg! We're talking about Shredder! _Shredder!_ You don't know what - "

 _"Don't know what that means!"_ She completed the sentence for him, trying to jerk her arm free. _"Don't I?"_

Finding out had only cost her _everything_. Her home, her job, her future, her _mother_...the authorities were even looking for her, so what good would her ID be? There wasn't even enough cash in her bag to make going back for it worthwhile.

Raphael's hand slid from her arm. He sank into dejection, backing away a pace to sit down hard in the dirt. "Where - " he asked quietly, " - are you going to go?"

"I don't know." She didn't have anywhere to go, no close friends that she trusted, no one that wouldn't know she was in trouble and wanted for questioning, no where that Allan or the twins wouldn't think of and no one that she wanted to endanger anyway. The lump came back. She really hadn't thought any further than just going...

"Well, you can't go now...it's not really a safe neighbourhood up there. Wait till later. I'll take you. Anywhere you want. Train station or someplace. Whatever. Where do you want to go?"

She swallowed the lump. "I want to go to the zoo."

He pulled his knees up and folded his arms across them to rest his chin there. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm already hurt."

"Meg..." he went to pleading. _"No."_ But he was asking now, asking her not to go and not telling her.

Her shoulders slumped. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking because tears were threatening again, for no apparent reason. "How - " she turned the tables. "How are you going to get Leo out of there? I want to know."

"Doesn't matter!" His tone went sharp again. "We'll - "

 _"Impossible!"_ He was utterly impossible! Megan slapped him on the snout and then sat down hard beside him. "That's not an answer!"

"It's - " He opened his mouth again -

"Shut up!" She swatted his nose one more time. "Just shut up and we'll talk about sense!"

Megan pulled her own knees up to hug them close to her chest. Raphael raised a hand to rub his snout, but for once he didn't say anything. Brash. That was Raphael. She wondered if he ever listened to anybody. She took a deep breath, not even sure what she was going to say, now that she had slowed down enough to consider it.

"I don't think sense is going to enter into this much. Shredder wants you back at the zoo. No sense at all in that, not that I can see, but-"

"Rub our noses in it." Raph interrupted to supply. "That's why."

"So you're gonna get your noses rubbed. No avoiding it. _Assuming_ , and you'd better make sure you've got it clear that _assuming_ is all you can do, assuming that he even brings Leo and puts him back where he found him, you've still gotta get him out. _Assuming_ , of course that's he's in any condition to be moved. I'm assuming that's not very likely. He wasn't ready to be moved when they took him, and God alone knows what kind of care he's had since then, assuming he's had any at all. You'd better be assuming that he's not gonna be on his feet. Who's gonna carry him, Raph? What about all those ninja you were talking about? What are they gonna be doing? Not standing around holding the doors for you guys to go."

"We'll take care of 'em."

"We'll assume, just for the sake of argument that you will, you three and Splinter and Casey Jones. Leaves April to carry Leo around - I guesstimate you guys at about two hundred pounds apiece. She _might_ be pushing a hundred and ten. Are you _hearing_ me, Raph? _How_ are you gonna pull this thing off? _I_ want to know!"

"I didn't say..." he began slowly, "..didn't say it would be easy. I know it won't be easy, but we've still gotta _try."_

Megan buried her face in her arms and sighed. "I understand that. But Don is right. You still have to have a plan and it's gotta be more than what you had on the blackboard. Between us, April and I could probably manage Leonardo, even unconscious. And my mother sent stuff that'll take care of that too, if we really need it, stuff that'll put Leo on his feet in an emergency. And that's what it'll be. Start to finish."

"You can show Splinter what to do." It was an incredibly lame suggestion. "And I only said that _maybe_ April was going to come. Just maybe."

"Splinter's the only one I'd trust. And as far as that _maybe_ goes, don't you think you're gonna want every advantage you can get?"

"I don't want her to get hurt either!"

"Think that'll stop her? She's Leo's friend, remember?" She caught herself sniffing, and buried her face again. _Too damn touchy!_ She cursed herself. The tears were brimming again. _What'd I have to say that for?_

"I said I was sorry about that. I didn't mean it, not the way it sounded. You're our friend too Meg." He laid one hand, very tentatively on her shoulder.

She resisted an impulse to jerk her shoulder away. It would only make him feel worse, and that would have been petty, even though it had hurt. "I don't usually forgive inexcusable behavior."

"I'm sorry," he repeated again.

"And I never forget it either."

"Meg - " It was frustration now.

 _"I'm going!"_ She raised her head to look at him.

Raphael narrowed his eyes. His snout twitched, a fleeting tension. "Friends?" he asked.

"All right, you're forgiven," she said and watched the relief light up his eyes. "But I'm still going."

He shifted uncomfortably, taking the one arm that was still hugging his knees from them and rolling up to his feet. He used the hand that had been resting on her shoulder to pull her up. He shrugged non-committally. "We'll talk about it."

A finger came to wipe at the wet track on her cheek, the second time in less than twelve hours that he'd dried her tears.

It was as good as a yes, in her books. She squeezed the hand that had drawn her to her feet. "Okay." She accepted it. "And stop getting mud all over my face! I'm enough of a mess already. I suppose you're in trouble now, aren't you?"

"Me? Oh. Yeah. I'm nearly always in trouble - "

"That doesn't surprise me." Megan looked up, raised a disapproving eyebrow at him. "I suppose I'll have to bail you out now too."

"Hmmm, well - " He cast an uncomfortable look back down the tunnel. "You don't have to do anything, but - " when he turned back, he was wearing what had to be his very best wounded puppy expression " - it would be nice." He sounded hopeful.

She frowned, making an exasperated noise. "Why do you have to have such nice eyes?!" Megan shook her hand out of his and pounded his shell one more time. "You're gonna get us all killed!"

He shrugged without denying it and shuffled. If he'd had pockets, she thought he might have shoved his hands into them.

"Just impossible!" She muttered, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"S 'okay," he said softly. "Someone had to."

Megan unrolled her fist to wipe at the dirt mark she'd left on his shell. "You're trouble, Raph." She poked an accusing finger at his nose.

One of his hands came up to wrap itself around the gesturing digit, enclosing her whole hand because it was so much smaller than his. "Splinter says it's not polite to point."

"Trouble..." she repeated, and then let out a long sigh. "Raph?"

"Yeah? What?"

"Don't ever change..." Megan pulled his nose down to hers, kissed him once. For _luck_ , she told herself.

 _Just for luck..._.

~o~


	9. True Forces - Chapter 7

**True Forces Chapter Seven**

It was depressing, really, Raphael thought, the way that Shredder managed to arrange things. The quarantine building was the same, but the level of activity around it had changed. There should have been zoo personnel, on grounds maintenance and sanitation detail. The Turtles and Splinter had spent time and energy avoiding the night-shift staff every time they'd made a visit...the zoo was one of those places that never really shut down.

Now, there wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere.

Raph didn't doubt there were plenty of ninja Foot warriors hereabouts though. Inside. Outside. Somewhere.

Waiting for them.

Shredder knew they would come, knew they had to. For Leo.

Raphael even supposed that Shredder would keep his word far enough to bring Leonardo back here, the proper bait to make things more interesting, and to coax the desperate best out of his enemies before he brought the hammer down hard on them.

 _Why did I ever agree to letting April and Meg come along?_ But he knew the answer. _Needed 'em, that's why._

He had not been able to talk them out of it. Megan in particular had some sort of a score to settle, and some of that business about providing a medical opinion was purely excuse. But she just wasn't equipped with any of the skills she would need to do so against this grade of adversary. All Meg really had was the driving need to do _something_ in the wake of her mother's death. April was a little better off...Casey was here with her, and the Turtles had spent at least part of the winter making her halfway capable of defending herself. She even knew how to use a bo effectively. Beyond that, and more importantly, Leo was her friend. That most of all. Meg had hit that nail on the head too...

And then there was Splinter.

He had disappeared from their group with his typical, amazing suddenness. Out of their way and a wild card in the game. Raphael wasn't even going to worry about him. In spite of his apparent frailty, Splinter could still take care of himself. He suspected that Splinter was off to find Shredder, and to occupy him, while they dealt with extricating Leonardo. It was the bare bones of a plan that Splinter had only hinted at in the long discussion there had been. April had come and even Casey had endured confinement in the silt chamber to attend. They had discussed what to do, what to try and what to plan for. But it had not been possible to settle on any one scheme in particular - Raph had been right, when it came right down to it - Shredder already had the whole thing planned and all they could do was their best to cope with it. And so they were here, still without any actual plan. They were very much winging the whole thing.

Raphael raised a sai.

Donatello signalled his readiness with a nod, and Michelangelo gave him an eager, affirmative stare. The Foot had better watch out for that Turtle in particular. Mike had a score to settle too.

Their group was too large to rely on stealth. And besides, they were expected. If the situation had been any less serious, Raphael might have been astounded by the sheer audacity of his next move. As things stood, however, Raphael just walked them all right up to the panoramic glass front doors and in, committing them to whatever Fate, and Shredder, had in store...

The concrete corridors were as deserted as the outer premises. But the video cameras were live, and that made Raphael swear audibly. It meant more records of them, further substance to add to the rumours that Shredder had already unleashed. It would distract them; they had lived their whole lives trying not to be seen, and leaving the world such evidence of their existence galled.

He took out the first camera with a deft toss of the sai in his right hand, startling the others.

"We are _not_ going to give Shredder a home video," he stated, before anyone asked. "We take out all the cameras."

No one argued the point. What was already on tape was likely enough to identify two of the three humans in the group with damning irrefutability. Especially April, whose face was already well known. Even Meg's was now, as her picture had been broadcast all over the news for the last week. Why hadn't they thought of masks? Casey had his, but then, he always did.

 _Leo would have,_ he thought, seeing a glaring deficiency in his own less-than-perfect leadership. _Damn!_ Even The Foot had more sense than they did in some matters.

He retrieved the sai. "Let's go," he muttered. "I want Leo outta here."

They went on, tracing a path from the entranceway down toward the sub-basement, where they had last left Leonardo and Melissa Marshall. Megan wore a grim look, and Michelangelo had that focused, battle-ready set to him that did not bode well for the first adversary they would meet. Still there was the ominous quiet, and the descent to the basement was far too easy. He destroyed another video camera before they reached the corridor with the observation tanks. Those too, seemed oddly vacant. They passed the maintenance rooms, all locked, which was not unusual, but Raphael wondered this time if there were enemies hiding inside. He refused to let the silence unnerve him as he peered cautiously around the corner of the hallway that led to their goal. The door of the small room that had served as Leo's infirmary was shut.

 _Oh, don't let it be booby trapped!_

He had an awful thought that maybe the place was deserted because there might have been a bomb big enough to eradicate them all hidden down here someplace, and that Shredder had taken himself and his troops safely elsewhere to watch the pyrotechnics.

 _No,_ he decided. _That would be too easy._

Raphael dismissed the idea. He could paralyze himself in _maybe_ and _might have been_. There was a danger in that kind of thinking. He strode around the corner and gripped the doorknob firmly, giving it a decisive twist. Locked. _Damn._

"Mikie, take this thing off." Raphael stepped out of the way, letting Michelangelo closer with his nunchukus in hand. They gave him clearance and he set one 'chuk awhirl, then struck the knob hard. It gave, having never been designed to withstand the accumulated force of momentum that such a weapon could deliver. The doorknob skittered loudly across the concrete floor, coming to rest close to the heel of Megan's running shoe.

She looked up at him, dangling something in her hand. "I had the keys," she said faintly, after the damage had been done. "Never mind."

"Thanks anyway," he said belatedly, turning back to poke one oversized finger through the vacancy the displaced knob had left behind and force the other half of it out of the way. The door swung open slightly.

Cautiously, he pushed the door further inwards with one toe, his weapons high, just in case, and stepped inside.

Raphael sucked air in. Leonardo was there! "Okay! He's here!" he told the others with guarded elation, but he could hardly contain the relief that washed over him. "Let's check him out. Meg, get in here!"

At that moment he was infinitely grateful to have her along, because Leo wasn't conscious. "Mikie, Don - keep an eye on those corridors." He looked at April and Casey. "Um...hang loose," he told them, having no other specific instructions for them. He was getting nervous. Where was Shredder? What was Shredder's plan? _When_ was he going to show up and claim the diskettes and the canister they were supposed to be trading for Leo? Megan brushed past him, slipping into the room, and April followed her. Raphael tailed them closely as they crossed the room to surround Leonardo.

Leo was lying, partially propped up into a corner, with his head slumped over onto one shoulder. He was breathing in a slow, steady rhythm that Raph took for a good sign. Meg was checking his pulse, nodding to herself. She shifted Leo's head, lifting one eyelid to see how his pupils were dilating. She seemed happy with that too.

"Well?" Raphael asked impatiently.

"Seems well enough, overall," she answered. "I'm going to give him a stimulant, see if I can bring him around." She reached into the knapsack she'd taken from her back, the one with everything Shredder was looking for, as well as the things she had considered necessary to bring along for Leo. "He looks a bit skinny to me though. Dehydrated. I wonder if they saw fit to feed him anything." She turned over the arm that Leo had had the IV hooked up to when he'd been under her mother's care. "Doesn't look like they gave him any dextrose." There would have been a bruised vein evident if an IV had been removed at any time in the very recent past. Instead, there was just a tiny mark, where the first had been taped down. "I don't think they took very good care of him." She glanced up, eyes moving from Raph's face to April's and then back to what she was doing with a new syringe. "Talk to him. See if you can rouse him up a bit." Megan moved back, cracking open the tiny vial of whatever it was that she was planning to give to Leonardo.

April leaned over, straightening Leo's head in her hands. "Hey, Leo!" she said. "Com'on big guy, time to wake up!" She slapped his cheeks gently. She tried a few times, without results, as Meg filled the syringe, tapped it to remove any air bubbles and then squirted out the excess until she had the correct dosage. She pressed a thumb firmly to the inside of Leo's elbow, swabbing it with alcohol as she waited for the vein to pop into evidence. She gave him the injection, and then pressed another cotton pad to the inner elbow for a moment.

"That should bring him around." Meg said. "Give him a couple of minutes. He'll be dizzy though." She turned her attention to the damaged plate on his belly. "This looks better than it did. Hope the inside has healed up as well." The ooze was all gone. The cracks and incisions had fused back down, colored the pale green of shell scarring now. Megan's gaze shifted up to Raphael. "He might not be able to walk yet, not on his own, not without stressing something. Keep it in mind, huh?"

Raph nodded. He had been thinking about that already. No one was expecting Leo to fight his way out of here, but carrying him out might prove a little tough to manage - she'd been right about that too.

Where were all those damned Foot?

April continued her monologue. The stimulant began to take effect. Leo stirred, muttered something incomprehensible, lapsed out again. His pulse and respiration rates went up.

Meg nodded again. "Okay, let's get him up, make him move around some."

Raphael took a step closer, but April stopped him. "You're in charge here," she told him curtly. "Casey! Get in here!"

Casey's face popped into view, his mask shoved up onto the top of his head. "How're we doin' in here?" he asked anxiously. He really wanted to get going, tense and nervous and hating it here, underground.

"Leo needs a strong back and you just volunteered." April told him. "Com'on, give me a hand."

Raph backed out into the hallway, embarrassed, realizing April was right. _He_ was the one that should have been dishing out orders. He left them, giving them a chance to get Leo on his feet, and went to confer quickly with Mike and Don, filling them in on Leo's condition. His uneasiness grew apace with the continued quiet. _We're not gonna get outta here..._ he thought nervously. But that was defeatist thinking. He would have to try to be a bit more positive about the outcome.

"Things are going too smoothly," Donatello commented, echoing Raph's thoughts aloud. "I don't like it."

Raph could only shrug. "So patience is a virtue. They'll show."

"Huh. Yeah." Don grunted his response to that, fingers gripping the bo tightly in reflex. "I still don't like it."

"We go for the nearest manhole outside. Got to get out of here clean if we can. Fast. Hope there won't be too many of 'em. Hope they won't be down there." It was something they had discussed, in what little planning they had done. Shredder knew where they lived, how they got about. And these days, the sewers were not necessarily a safe haven.

"Fat chance." Michelangelo said. "They had guns last week Raph." Mike reminded him. _"Guns."_

They all looked at one another in silence, communicating the same understanding that they had when they'd decided to come anyway, whatever the odds.

Raphael felt a sudden rush of warmth for his brothers. _Oh, hell!_ he thought. _We're all gonna get killed and I haven't told them anything!_

Sentimental expression was always hard for Raph, but he reached out and gave Donatello a spontaneous, harmless punch to the shoulder. For Michelangelo it was a playful backhanded swat across the top of the head, the kind of rough affection they had come to expect of one another and all that he had the time for under the circumstances,

"We got Leo, anyway." Raphael said optimistically, evading the like responses, knowing he'd cave into embarrassment if he didn't.

"And maybe they forgot their guns." Donatello added.

Michelangelo tossed one 'chuk into the air and then caught it deftly. "Gonna break Shredder's other leg today," he told them.

Raphael believed it.

"Keep those eyes peeled." Raphael turned back toward the small room behind them. "Gotta see what's keeping Leo."

April and Casey were helping Leo to stagger around the perimeter of the room, one of his arms draped over each of their shoulders, while Meg encouraged him from time to time, getting him to test the strength of his legs.

It was obvious to Raph though, that Leo's legs were not going to support him...Leo looked up, seeing him, and there was an unfocused glaze to Leo's eyes that wasn't terribly reassuring. Another knot tied in Raph's gut...it was Leo - _Leo -_ and he was, if not exactly okay, at least well on his way to it. Raph had not forgotten the days spent in the bathtub last summer, not forgotten who had spent the time there with him. Raphael couldn't find anything to say. What he was feeling was just too complex.

Leo must have read it in his eyes.

"Hey, Raph-" Leo slurred. "You know that Shredder's around here someplace, huh?"

 _Oh, Leo..._ "Yeah, yeah, I know." Raph answered, feeling the knots loosen _. He's not stupid this time._ "But we're leaving. Right now." He looked at Meg for confirmation, glad when she nodded, even though it was with some reservation. They just didn't have the time to waste. "Sorry I didn't bring your swords."

Leo made an effort to stand without the help he was getting. His knees gave out. "Guess that's okay," he said. "Next time."

No argument. No questions asked. Not from Leo, who had taken the measure of his own current capabilities and wasn't going to jeopardize their escape with heroics that were beyond him.

"You bet." Raphael inhaled deeply. Getting out wasn't going to be the piece of cake that getting in had been.

His hands went to the sai in his waistband. He drew them, eyes going once around the circle. He shrugged once. "Cowabunga." he muttered, then turned and led them out the door.

Both Don and Mike watched with relief as the group filed out into the hallway. "All quiet," Donatello reported, gaze going straight to Leonardo, just like Mike's did. Raphael could see that they were both itching to say something, but they both held their peace. No easy feat for Michelangelo, not after what he'd gone through over the last week. Now just wasn't the time - they all understood that.

The corridors were still clear.

"Let's move it, ladies and gentlemen," Raphael said, nerves suddenly raw. "We've got a bus to catch." He was wondering where Splinter had gotten to.

 _Our wild card,_ he thought again. _Gonna need it for sure._

They went silently, retracing their route to the observation tanks, moving faster than he'd actually thought possible towards the stairs that led to the upper level and out. He was bringing up the rear, following Megan who was herself behind Leo and his two escorts. Donatello and Michelangelo were in the vanguard. He saw Mike start up the stairs. Then saw him freeze, with Don in his tracks.

Raphael took the several steps necessary to bring him up right beside them, and he froze too.

 _Found 'em..._

The upper part of the stairwell was clogged with the black-clad forms of The Foot...

~o~

They had come.

Master Shredder was standing restlessly in the small security room again, watching the monitors with keen interest. Their enemies were prompt.

Tatsu watched them all, from just behind Shredder's shoulder, as they filed into the quarantine building, counting Turtles and humans, identifying those whose names he knew, up to the point that the creature in the red mask dispensed with the video camera, putting a sai directly into the lens with an extraordinary accuracy.

Three Turtles, and three humans. _Fools, all of them,_ Tatsu thought. _Throwing their lives away for the hope that the one we have might be rescued..._

"They are punctual," Shredder commented.

"Yes."

"The Rat is not with them."

Tatsu only grunted agreement. That much was obvious.

He knew that it bothered Shredder a great deal that the Rat was not with them. It left a question as to just where, precisely, the Rat was. It bothered Tatsu too.

Leonardo had said it was old, that it was always at home. It had been in poor health when last Tatsu had seen it. Probably it had not come. But he could not count on that - Splinter would be as desperate to recover Leonardo as the rest of these fools. The possibility had been taken into account. There were standing orders to watch for the creature.

Master Shredder had brought Leonardo along, their enemies would not be disappointed in that regard. For a time, Shredder had seriously considered leaving the Turtle back at the warehouse - these others would have come no matter what, but Shredder had decided it would be more advantageous to burden them with their injured companion, to give them that additional worry to deal with on their way out. Tatsu had been less than sanguine about it, considering it an unnecessary risk and reasoning that the Turtles would be doubly dangerous in protecting one of their own under odds stacked against them.

Shredder had argued in turn that they would be dangerous too, if disappointed by not finding their comrade as Shredder had dictated they would. But it wasn't going to matter in any case. They were not going to get out. Tatsu had planned for that extreme contingency too.

A second video camera went, suffering the same fate as the first. It was deadly, that Turtle with the sai. He would keep that in mind. Tatsu drew in breath deeply. Their enemies were beyond the range of the security cameras now, headed for the sub-basement. It was time to move into place.

"Tatsu," Shredder said, turning from the monitor.

"Master Shredder." It was difficult to keep the eager note out of his voice as he responded. The hood was there, within reach at last.

Master Shredder had given Tatsu only two requirements, when he'd told him just what he wanted done. He repeated them now, redundant and unnecessary, because Tatsu had built his strategy around them.

"Isolate one of them. Trap the rest."

Tatsu acknowledged the order with a slight bow, and spoke quietly into the pocket transmitter that was the control unit for the network linking him to his subordinates. Tonight's operation had been planned with the near military precision he was known for. It took only one command to set things in motion. He waited, for the moment it took for the subordinates to acknowledge back, then nodded once to Master Shredder.

"We are ready, Master Shredder," he reported.

Shredder stopped the restless pacing and turned to look at him. The dark eyes were aglitter with anticipation and the hands tight around the gauntlets. His Master had not come to engage in battle himself tonight, but he seemed ready for it, despite last week's injury. Mostly healed, that, but the bruise had been a deep one, and the ache was still there, evident in the slight limp that Shredder sometimes forgot to make the effort to conceal.

Tatsu met the eager gaze with a battle-ready grunt of his own. He did not permit himself a smile, not yet, not so soon.

They exchanged a nod, moved for the door, the quarantine building their destination.

There would be time to smile later, when the street hood was in his hands.

~o~

Megan McLaine stopped, standing absolutely still as Raphael moved past her, going in a seeming instant to join Donatello and Michelangelo on the stairs to the upper gallery.

She realized all at once that it left her as rearguard, and she glanced nervously behind her, eyes scanning the still empty corridor that was bare cement wall on one side and inch thick plate glass all along the curved length of the other. There was no retreat back that way, save by running the distance and hoping that the stairs at the other end weren't also held by the enemy. Megan thought that very unlikely.

She thought of the maintenance rooms, the electrical, filtration and ventilation systems - the humans might have been able to crawl through some of the air shafts, but they just weren't an option for the Turtles, who simply wouldn't fit. Leonardo wouldn't be able to climb through them even if the shafts were big enough.

She doubted that there were any exits that would not have been guarded in any case.

For an instant, everything hung suspended. The Turtles faced their enemies, looking up the stairs to an area that was outside her line of sight. Then Michelangelo hollered _"Cowabunga!"_ at the top of his lungs, and charged. Donatello and Raphael were a mere fraction of a second behind him.

Chaos reigned.

April and Casey moved backward, and Casey abandoned Leo to April's care to pull the baseball bat from its place at his back. Megan found herself moving into Casey's place, shifting Leonardo back to the bottom of the stairway to crouch there with him, herself and April forming an all too fragile protective barrier.

It didn't take even a minute. Several black-clad bodies tumbled down the stairway and lay inert wherever they came sprawling to a stop.

Megan looked to April, swallowing.

"Those are the bad guys," April told her with a tiny, very nervous smile. "We've met them before."

"What should we do with them?" April didn't have an answer for that. She shrugged wordlessly.

The sounds that reached them from above were not encouraging. There were controlled shouts and muffled thumps, interspersed with the clatter of weapons. No gunfire, which was the one thing they had been fearing most of all. Leo kept his gaze fixed on whatever action came into view, murmuring sub-vocally, save for the odd curse that came through at a higher volume.

Megan kept looking down the far corridor. "There's steel fire doors on the landings of both these stairways," she told April. "I've got the keys that will lock them. I could try to get those other ones closed, keep any of them from coming at our backs," she suggested.

"No," Leo breathed. "You could trap us here that way too." He paused, blinking, trying to clear his head. "They're probably just waiting for us down there anyhow. Shredder had this all figured - I heard them talking."

"Anything else?" April wondered aloud, because it looked from his expression that there was more that he'd overheard.

Leo nodded. He looked to be feeling better. Now his face took on a grim expression. "Shredder wants to take us alive. Most of us, anyway."

There was an implication there that wasn't pleasant to think about.

The battle continued. It had receded somewhat from the stairwell, and now it seemed that it was pushing back towards them.

"We'd better move up there some," April suggested. "We may get a chance to make a break for the door. You up to it Leo?"

Leo gave her a thumbs-up that was part way honest. But they did not get far. The fighting was on top of them again, both Don and Mike retreating towards the stairwell, utterly surrounded by Foot warriors.

Megan stared at the action, a surreal and alien sight, for all the stories that she'd been hearing from the Turtles and their friends the week long. She knew next to nothing about the martial arts, only what she'd gleaned watching the other three practice, but she knew enough to be impressed by the toll that the Turtles were chalking up even as she watched.

Dozens of immobile Foot were scattered about the gallery, and the number was still climbing.

Dozens more replaced them. She couldn't help but wonder where they were all coming from. It only took a minute to see that the Foot were organized, and dealing with their enemies in a manner that would wear the Turtles out long before their own resources would be exhausted. Teams of the black forms swept around the action, picking up their fallen comrades while others took their places. Meg couldn't see Raphael anywhere, and experienced a sudden tightening in the pit of her stomach. Casey Jones wasn't visible either.

"Better back up." Leo told them, "They're gonna need some room down here."

It had been good advice. They had only just cleared the stairs, when both Turtles at the top end turned to plunge down them, startling their attackers with the abrupt retreat.

"The other end's clear!" Donatello shouted at them. "Run! We'll hold them here!" They set themselves for another offensive, poised at the bottom of the stairs.

Megan and April moved, Leo limping between them. _So that was where Raph and Casey had taken themselves..._

The far stairwell was not quite clear, but the activity level was much less than what they'd just left behind. Casey was defending the top step, swinging his bat with an accuracy to match the skills the Turtles displayed with their own weapons. There were black forms littered about here too, but nobody was cleaning them up - all the Foot in the vicinity were concentrating their hostility on Raphael. He was outnumbered and surrounded, his shell pressed to the cement parapet that rimmed the upper length of the stairs. It looked as if The Foot were trying to throw him over the top, which would mean a drop straight down ten feet to the landing below, far enough to do serious damage, shell notwithstanding, on the concrete flooring and steps.

Megan's heart stopped, as two of Raph's assailants forced one of his arms back, slamming it down against the parapet and loosening the sai from his grip. It clattered over the edge and down, bouncing onto the landing. Her head jerked up. Raphael managed to throw off the two that had partially disarmed him, spinning, dealing out kicks with a vengeance that cleared the space around him. It didn't last. Foot were materializing everywhere, choking this exit as badly as the other. They were forcing Casey down the steps. Megan left Leo with April, and rushed to shut one of the steel doors, locking the floor and ceiling latches.

She scooped up the sai, glancing upwards, and then took the stairs that direction, two at a time. Raph had edged closer to Casey, was getting ready to start backing down the steps himself. He was about to come under heavy attack.

"Raph!" she shouted. "Here!" She staggered the last two steps, dagger flung out towards him at arm's length.

"Meg! _Dammit!"_ Raph grasped her arm above the wrist, seeming both alarmed and gratified to find her there. He hauled her up the last step and threw her against the wall forming the inner part of the banister behind him as Foot surged down the stairwell. They cut them off from Casey, who was forced relentlessly towards the landing. Raph ripped the sai from her hand, needing it, using it to clear another space around them. Below them, Casey was surrounded and quickly disarmed. The Foot had him, and then they shocked and confused Megan by tossing him unceremoniously through the remaining open door. The Foot responsible then slammed the other closed, cutting them off from their friends there too.

Those black forms then turned, shifting their attention back up the stairwell.

She remembered what Leonardo had said, about getting trapped down there. _If the other Turtles can't hold the other stairway open.._..

Megan left the thought unfinished. Raphael had never stopped fighting, and had put several of their attackers down. But the crowd had thinned too quickly, most of the Foot vanishing elsewhere, perhaps taking the battle back to the other end of the observation corridor. Enough of them stayed to keep Raph busy, and then -

Their attackers withdrew before them, regrouping as the lot at the landing advanced up the stairs slowly, giving them the option to move a single direction. Raph pulled Megan up to her feet, shoving her toward the hallway that led to the upper observation gallery, the only way that was free of enemies. Then The Foot closed on them again, forcing the both of them to retreat, backing them through another set of fire doors.

To that point, Meg had hardly felt the fear. It had been there, but, like the action, it had been flowing around her, as unreal and distant as the fact of her mother's death had been. None of it had truly touched her...it had not been tangible enough. Until now.

Now her wrist hurt, where Raph had gripped it - he was immensely strong, and the wall had been stone-hard and very solid when she'd hit it, bruising shoulders and spine with the canister in the backpack when Raph had shoved her there protectively.

It was all _real,_ she was realizing slowly, as _real_ as the black figures that were herding them toward the gallery.

Real, and the fear crowded in on her all at once, a glacial chill, like the cold, sure knowledge that she was by far more liability than asset to Raphael at the moment.

Megan hugged the wall, inching nearer to the open spaces of the wide balcony that overlooked the quarantine pool. She kept her eyes trained on the Foot warriors pushing them that direction. Two of Raph's remaining eight assailants veered off, both of them turning her way, their masks fixing on her as if she was a practice target. It halted her inching progress in weak-kneed paralysis.

 _"Meg! Run!"_ Raphael shrieked at her. _"Get out!"_

She felt a rush of adrenaline, and turned at Raph's urging, sprinting blindly out onto the balcony with her gaze trailing over one shoulder at the two Foot in pursuit, and didn't see it coming -

Megan was stopped cold, having run straight into the grasp of a glittering, bladed apparition of black and silver and gray, a slender wall of incredible strength that put an end to the headlong flight effortlessly.

She went immobile, drawing one long shuddering breath.

 _Shredder._

Her stare widened, as Shredder's eyes locked with her own, a human feature of molten brown amid the surreal fantasy of armour and weaponry. She didn't move as he jerked the small knapsack from her shoulders, then tossed her off and into the grip of another man, one that was broad and bald. That one seized her brutally, pinning one arm behind her back and knotting fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. He knew what he was doing. Megan could feel it, could tell that just a minute twist would snap vertebrae, if that was what Shredder wanted done.

Shredder himself spared only a glance into the knapsack, and likewise tossed that off to one of the two Foot that had pursued her as far as the balcony. Those two departed with it, and Shredder composed himself to wait for the battle to carry Raphael out of the narrow confines of the corridor to the space he had chosen.

It didn't take long. Megan sank into misery.

Shredder spoke once. "Now, Tatsu," he said, and the man holding her barked out a single order in a language she supposed to be Japanese.

All battle around Raphael ceased, and The Foot stepped back, clearing an area around the lone Turtle.

Raphael pivoted slowly, keeping a wary eye on them, until another word from Tatsu sent them back down the corridor, closing the steel doors behind them.

Only then did Raphael turn to face Shredder, and there was fire in his eyes.

Megan closed her own, wishing hard for a miracle.

~o~

A surprised cry had escaped April O'Neil when Casey had sailed through the door to land badly not far from her feet. He did not stay down long, and almost made it back to the door before it slammed in his face. He pounded on the steel in frustration. Casey spat invective, and then turned to run down the stairs and pelt the distance to the far end of the corridor, back to where Mike and Don were still fighting. "Com'on babe!" he shouted. "That's no exit!"

"But...but, what about Raphael and Meg?" April asked quietly, shouldering Leo to his feet. Anxiety fluttered in her belly, a cold, deep fear settling in.

"Don't know, April." Leo responded. "I think we're all in a whole lot of trouble."

They didn't rush to get back to the far end. Neither of them were any use in the fight, and it was still going when they rounded the curve, bringing the battle into view. The Turtles had been forced further into the corridor. Casey was taking a beating, and two of the enemy repeated what he'd just received a moment before and threw him back down the stairs. More Foot were clearing the fallen away, removing those that had sprawled to the lower level.

Two pinned Casey to the floor, and held him there, waiting, it seemed to April, for something or someone. She felt a rush of panic for him, but the two who held him down didn't do any other damage, and they could have. Really serious damage. She eased Leo to the floor, tense, moving toward the fighting, determined to do something.

She recalled Leo's words. _Shredder wants to take us alive._

Then the battle stopped. All of The Foot, excepting those engaged with Don and Mike retreated back to the stairwell. As they cleared, April saw the reason coming.

A single Foot warrior was positioned on the landing, holding an automatic machine gun, aimed in their direction. Casey stopped his struggling as that one approached, motioning the others back and giving Casey a prod with one toe. "Go to your friends," he said. "You have ten seconds."

Casey Jones went.

Donatello and Michelangelo also came under the gun. That fighting ceased abruptly as well. All Foot vanished toward the upper level.

The one with the gun backed to the landing, keeping the weapon trained on the two Turtles until he passed the doors. The gun lowered and the doors closed, locking audibly in the near silence.

"Ooohhh, damn!" Donatello moaned. "Now what do we do?!"

Michelangelo was muttering curses as he ran to the doors, listening intently at them for a second and trying them. The doors were thick steel, the hinges on the other side. Megan had the keys, April recalled, but Megan was not with them.

Doubtless, there were guards with guns stationed on the stairs.

There was dismay on Michelangelo's face when he turned. "They've braced it shut - "

They were trapped.

April flung her arms around Casey, letting out the breath she'd been holding as he gave her a quick bear hug back.

"Gotta find a way outta here, babe," he told her quietly, releasing her and flexing his hands as if surprised to find them empty of any of his usual array of weapons. "This is bad news," he said. "Bad news."

Under other circumstances April might have felt some amusement, but now she could only be sympathetic...poor claustrophobic Casey, trapped underground again.

There was simply nothing humorous about the situation though.

She decided she loved him.

There was a long silence in the corridor. The muted hum of the tank's filtration systems was the only sound to be heard other aside from Mike and Don trying to catch their breath.

"Look," Leo said into the silence. "Up there." He had been staring into the quarantine tank from the place that April had left him sitting on the floor next to the railing.

Donatello moved to his side, Michelangelo in his footsteps. They gathered Leo up between them, a brief reunion of expressive hugs and murmured greetings.

Don's gaze followed Leo's into the tank, and suddenly his expression changed, as if something horrid had just occurred to him.

Something horrid occurred to April too, as soon as she took the moment to think. "Do you suppose they're still there?" she blurted out. "Did anyone notice?"

Casey's eyes came to hers, but there was no way to soften the news. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, they're still there."

Michelangelo swore, sounding uncannily like Raphael.

"Will somebody please tell me what you're all talking about?" Leo pleaded. "Is what still where?"

Leonardo hadn't been given the tour of the building, April realized. He didn't know what had been, what still was, living in the tank.

"Crocodiles," she said quietly. "There's crocodiles in there."

Leonardo's eyes went wide.

There was another deep silence. April came to see what Leo had been pointing out. She pressed her face to the smooth surface, peering upwards and surprised to find that she could make out the figures above the waterline with a minimum of distortion.

It was Raphael and Megan.

But they were not alone.

April's gut tightened again. She was thinking that Shredder had planned it well. Both of the heavy sets of steel doors at either end of the underground corridor were now sealed, effectively keeping herself, Casey, and the three Turtles from doing anything to help their friends.

All they could do was watch with a mounting horror through the thick transparent barrier into the crocodile tank. There was no way to overhear what was being said, but it was all too obvious what Shredder was planning to do.

"Oh dear God, no..." April heard herself murmur. "Shredder has them. He's got them both."

It was true. Donatello and Michelangelo moved closer to join her, more centrally located along the corridor where she had a better view than they did, supporting Leonardo between them. Casey was anxiously scanning the concrete walls of the corridor, seeking an exit.

There were none.

Casey wasn't going to find a way out.

She and the Turtles could see Shredder and his henchman Tatsu, standing on the far side of the glass-rimmed balcony that overlooked the tank. Tatsu had Megan McLaine, holding her with one arm twisted behind her back and his other hand anchored firmly in her hair.

About fifteen feet away was Raphael, poised, sai held at the ready, one up to thrust and the other turned down for stabbing. Shredder stood between the Turtle and the girl.

"What the hell's going on?" Leo wondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper.

None of them would answer him, although they had all probably gotten it pretty much figured out.

No one spoke...

~o~

Shredder was feeling very, very satisfied. He surveyed his prisoners, giving the girl a slow once over, the intent of which even this mutant reptile couldn't, and didn't mistake. The Turtle shifted, making a low noise in its throat that fell somewhere between a growl and a moan.

 _The creature has a weakness_ , he thought, again with satisfaction. _Interesting. Perverse, but interesting._

First, the O'Neil woman, and now this girl. It had been the same sai-bearing creature that had rescued April O'Neil from his men last year in the subway.

He signalled Tatsu minutely, and Tatsu tightened his grip on the girl fractionally, making her wince and come to her toes.

"Do not move, _mutant._ " Shredder advised in a conversational tone, making the word mutant an insult as he spoke. "This one means nothing to me, and has caused me considerable inconvenience. I have little in the way of patience for either of you, or your friends." He allowed his gaze to shift downwards into the pool. "They are trapped, you see," he explained. "And unable to come to your aid." Shredder turned to face the Turtle with a swirl of the cape. "I will have three specimens to study now, and you, mutant, as a fourth, are expendable." Again, a growl from the thing, this one more low and threatening. One of the sai came up a few inches, as if the creature was considering a lethal toss at him, one that Shredder knew the thing well capable of making, for he had witnessed what this one had done to two of the video cameras with the weapon.

Tatsu responded, making the girl gasp once again.

The sai stopped.

Shredder wondered what it would take to make the creature speak.

 _This_ is _amusing._ Shredder paced toward the Turtle casually, skirting around it, watching as it pivoted on those big, two-toed feet, its eyes never leaving his and its stance never relaxing. The Rat had trained it well. It looked dangerous. Dangerous enough to take him out again, without the Rat's help, in his still weakened condition. But the creature probably didn't know that.

As well, the girl's life seemed insurance enough to guarantee the creature's continued good behavior. It had been a bonus, convenient for the girl to have put herself into the midst of the fighting. She was as good as a leash on the creature, would make dealing with this thing easier in the very short term.

Shredder examined it closely. There were differences from the other one. More spots across its snout, slightly darker in skin tone, although that could well have been a trick of the lighting. Shell texture varied - there were scrapes and chips across this one's back, as if it hadn't taken the best care of itself over the years. There was a trace of a scar down the back of its left calf. Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps, this was the one that his Foot warriors had injured last summer.

Shredder had come full circle around it. With another swirl, he turned his back on the Turtle and approached the girl.

She regarded him with trepidation, as well she might. Not trained, even minimally to protect herself, this child. She was helpless and utterly without defence before him. Useful, or might have been, as her mother might have been, in studying the Turtles, but her eyes were full of defiance and there was little likelihood that she would be won over by any means that would not negate the usefulness. There was considerable intelligence behind the fear, as the twins had indicated. In addition, there was a good measure of courage. Aside from her initial startlement, she had remained remarkably calm. She had not dissolved into hysterics or resorted to tears.

Truly, he decided, a waste.

She was every bit as expendable as the mutant.

But she, and it, would afford him some amusement yet.

He lifted her chin with the twin tips of his gauntlet. She closed her eyes with a nervous fluttering as he drew them lightly down her face, tracing a line from the outer tip of her eyebrow and over the curve and hollow of cheekbone. He opened his palm, repeated the motion with a fingertip on the opposite side, letting the finger rest a moment on her lips.

Handsome, rather than pretty, he mused. He could see what had attracted the twins.

Again, what a waste.

He supposed the twins would miss her - he would have to inform them, regretfully, that their stepsister had not accompanied the mutants, that recovering her had just not been possible.

He would have Tatsu see that no rumour of her presence ever came to their ears.

Tonight's operation was _not_ going to become one of the tales to circulate on the lower levels of their headquarters.

He dropped his arm, backed away a pace, heard the growl again from behind him. "So, mutant," he said without turning. "You would fight for this one. You _will_ be the given the opportunity." Shredder assured the creature. His eyes met Tatsu's, and Tatsu relaxed his grip on the girl.

 _"Shredder,"_ the Turtle spoke his name, making it a curse.

Shredder turned.

The creature was all but shaking with an anger it could scarcely contain, still holding its poise. _Well trained, indeed_ , he thought once more.

 _"My name,"_ the Turtle said slowly and with a peculiar emphasis, _"is Raphael!"_ Its voice dropped to a deadly monotone. _"Remember it!"_

The thing's name was not what Shredder had been expecting to extract. He had thought that it might beg for the girl's life, plead with him to release her. It seemed to understand better than that, and did not stoop to it. He knew now what could be engraved on the brass plate, had three of their four names, and would complete that list soon enough. But it had spoken, under duress, and that held sufficient satisfaction for the moment. It was time.

Shredder could have moved faster, but he did not want to kill the girl outright. He spun on one heel, gauntlet blades raised, and swung at Megan McLaine, giving her the second her reflexes needed to put her free arm up and fend off what would otherwise have been a killing blow. The twin blades, razor sharp, hardly slowed as they bit deeply, scoring parallel lines of red across her forearm.

Tatsu moved too, in an unrehearsed but finely choreographed motion, and heaved her over the railing of the balcony and into the crocodile pool.

Raphael let out a howl of inchoate rage, and went in after her.

It had been easier than he'd thought, getting the thing into the pool...the girl had made it simple for them.

Shredder, with Tatsu at his shoulder, moved closer to the railing to watch. Behind the face plate, his lips drew into a small but cruel smile.

 _This,_ he thought, _this would be entertainment..._

~o~

Raphael fought to remain calm, to clear his thinking.

 _I just knew he'd do it!_ he cursed inwardly, pushing back something akin to panic. _Damn!_

 _Crocodiles!_

The rage had gone, quenched in a healthy kind of fear. He and Megan were in this alone...Shredder had said as much, and Raphael believed him that far.

That lower corridor had been the trap all along. Shredder had never intended that they leave it, not freely, at any rate.

He did not like what Shredder had said. _Specimens_ to study...

No more than he'd liked the next part, about his own expendability.

Splinter had said something about Shredder having a penchant for excessive retaliations. Being thrown to the crocodiles fit with that summation uncomfortably well, and he was now wondering why they hadn't guessed that it was a part of the _why_ Shredder had picked the quarantine building as his site of rendezvous when he could have picked _anywhere_ else and still been guaranteed of their attendance.

This had never come up in their discussions, not even as a remote possibility. They didn't have _this_ kind of imagination.

Crocodiles!

And he and Meg had just been designated fodder for them.

It was too bloody-minded, this whole business, and not something that any of them would have thought of, or wanted to admit to if they had.

For Shredder, Raph guessed, it was more of the elaborations, or maybe he just liked the challenge...

Getting all those Foot here into the zoo must have been a trick.

Raphael had hit the water hard, gone under about four feet and kicked furiously to come up...he had to know where Meg was, had to know how fast the opposition was going to come in.

The water was tropically warm and brackish. He hated the taste, and spat the bitter stuff that he'd swallowed going under. Warm, at least, he was grateful for that. Long immersion in cold water would have made him sluggish, him or any of his brothers, cold-blooded creatures that they were. The pool was as comfortable for Turtles as it was for crocodiles. He was going to need every advantage.

Melissa Marshall had said they had some sort of fungal infection.

 _I'm gonna catch something dreadful!_ he thought dismally. _Damn!_

He hoped he would live long enough to find out.

Raphael counted the three of them, three crocodiles lazing on the ledge at the side of the pool, lazing or maybe even sleeping, before all the commotion had come to disturb their rest, Shredder playing out his games up there on the balcony. At the moment they were still resting there on their designer islet on that side of the pool, two of them small, maybe only three times his own weight, and the third one the monster that Doctor Marshall had jokingly warned him to stay away from.

That one induced the healthy sense of fear...it measured almost fifteen feet from tip to tail and must have outweighed him eight to one. _Old.._..Melissa had said. _Old and canny, or they don't live long enough to get that big..._

Raph hadn't the faintest notion what good his ninja skills were going to be against that thing in its own backyard.

Megan surfaced behind him, sputtering and coughing.

One of the smaller crocodiles had moved, shifting on the ledge. Raphael kept his eyes on them as he backstroked over to where Meg had come up. She didn't seem to be swimming well, and he wondered with a sinking feeling if she didn't know how to...but it was only that she was trying to brush the water from her eyes, and the awkwardness turned out to be an effort to get her shoes off, to make the swimming easier. _Sense!_ he praised her silently. But they would need more than just sense to get out of this one.

He reversed the sai he'd had up to thrust, turning it down to make his own swimming a little less difficult. Turtles were at home in the water, and they all liked to swim, but they were heavy with their shells and in truth, much better suited to crawling along the bottom than they were to floating around on the surface. Prolonged swimming was hard work.

He was sure that wasn't the case for the crocodiles.

And Meg was hurt.

Raphael got one arm under her, grabbed her injured limb with his other hand, had to see just how bad it was. A cloud of discoloration leaked from the twin cuts as he pulled her arm over and he immediately wished he hadn't looked...

 _Right to the bone! Damn Shredder and his knives..._

Megan uttered a small, horrified moan, her face waxen and shock setting in. She knew too, just what Shredder had done. She breathed deeply, once, several times. "Let go!" she gasped at him, and ducked under the surface, trying this time to pull her T-shirt off, needing something to get a wrap on it. He helped as he could, giving her some support as they tread water. There was further discoloration, and it had the attention of the crocodiles. They were scenting blood, and the two smaller ones moved now, slipping with ominous smoothness into the pool.

He still had his sai, the daggers probably the only halfway effective weapon the Turtles possessed among them for use underwater. "Meg -" he pulled her around to get her attention when she came up with the T-shirt in hand. "Meg - how do I fight these things? They got any weak points?" He recalled jungle movies, heroes wrestling with such creatures and could not for the life of him remember how the heroes usually coped. He might be able to prop jaws open with a sai, might be, but that would reduce his armament, and there were more crocodiles than he had daggers in any case. He did not have much faith in the notion that they would just go to sleep if he rubbed their bellies...

Her eyes looked shock-strange, and she was starkly pale under the gallery lights. "Underside-" she gasped. "Gotta go for the throat. Throat or-" she paused to heave breath in, "-or belly. Gotta watch the tails!" She was wrapping the T-shirt around the cuts, having a hard time trying to swim, even with the help.

 _She's gonna faint! Damn! Oh, Meg, don't, don't- I can't cope with all of this alone!_ There was no way he would be able to keep himself and Megan afloat while wrestling crocodiles...

He didn't like the audience either.

Then, for the first time, he realized that Shredder and Tatsu weren't the only ones watching. Shredder had also provided front row seats for his friends and brothers downstairs. He and Megan were _in_ the observation tank.

It would be seriously demoralizing to watch the two of them torn to little bits and pieces.

The two smaller crocs were in the pool with them, circling. Sharks did that. He didn't know if it was normal behavior for crocodiles, didn't know if it was significant. They were not out in the wild right now, might be following different instincts. Being a reptile himself didn't help...most turtles were not carnivorous predators, and the reflexes were different. There was a deeply rooted part of him that just wanted to tuck up and wait it out on the bottom. Purely defensive strategy that probably worked for his non-mutant cousins capable of pulling all limbs and otherwise un-armoured appendages in for safe storage for the duration...

But it wasn't a viable option, not for him, and certainly not for Megan McLaine.

One of the crocodiles turned, darted for them, straight at Meg and her blood soaked T-shirt.

Raphael intercepted it, close enough to react, to pull Meg out of the way and slam the hilt of one fist-wrapped sai down hard onto its snout, closing the jaws that had begun to open. The thing jerked sideways in response, brushed past him and then whipped its tail as it changed course, catching him solidly across the mid-section.

 _Gotta watch the tails!_ Megan had warned. He knew why now and was glad of the shell and glad of the water, both of which had served to transfer some of the force. The blow hadn't hurt exactly, but there was more power in those scale-armoured backsides than he'd thought...he had been pushed backward through the water, and his shell could take that sort of punishment: He could imagine what such a blow might do if it struck soft tissue that would absorb the momentum-

One of them had gone beneath the surface, was circling there. _Damn, but it's hard to watch them both!_

"Stay here," he told Meg, unnecessarily, because there wasn't anywhere for her to go. Raph went under too, letting himself sink straight down, sticking real close to Megan as she continued to tread water. At least she hadn't fainted, not yet, anyway. She was weakening already though, he could see that.

 _He's covered all the bases,_ Raphael thought then. _Shredder's thought of it all. We're isolated, outnumbered, injured and on alien turf too..._ The wet environment served to neutralize nearly all his fighting skills. Ninjitsu was a land-based art.

The ledge on the side of the pool might have provided temporary asylum, but that big croc hadn't moved from it yet, still had that territory staked out. It would be too easy to get cornered over there. It might even out some of the odds though, give Megan a little respite from the swimming-if, he thought then, _if_ Shredder would let them try it.

Raph recalled the throwing daggers that Shredder carried. Probably he had a handful of shuriken too. Him and Tatsu both. Maybe they even painted them with poison...an old ninja trick that, and one he didn't suppose Shredder was above. Shredder hadn't thrown them into the pool just to let them crawl out again. And he'd thought of everything else...

The croc he was watching changed direction suddenly, ending the train of thought right there. It came at them, fast, faster than he'd seen them move yet, from Meg's far side. Raphael kicked hard, put himself on a collision course with both sai turned up. It saw him coming, adjusted its attitude and rolled, presenting its back to the weapons and protecting its underside instinctively. The first sai glanced harmlessly off the scales and he missed entirely with the second. The water slowed his swing too much. It swam off again, resumed circling with the other one. He went up for air, no guessing when he might get another chance. The crocodiles were becoming more aggressive in their approaches.

The monster still hadn't moved.

The other circling croc took a run at them, and was followed closely by the one he'd just driven off, both of them came, full speed from different directions.

Raph dove on top of Megan, forced her under and made himself the target there on the surface, just trusting that she had enough air. He put his shell to one and braced for the impact as he got his sai up for the second. That one came at him, mouth agape-a horrid vision of sharp teeth set inside wide and powerful jaws, that made his heart hammer.

The first struck his carapace, biting uselessly at his shell, shoving him toward the second and spoiling the strike he'd been prepared to make for that one's throat. He recovered, adjusted the sai, but he only had time for one other desperate maneuver at that close range. Raphael upended the sai inside the open jaws and wedged it there, close to the rear of the mandibles...

The tactic worked, astonishing him, because he'd had a notion that it was a special effect contrived in Hollywood. The crocodile thrashed, rolled in primal panic trying to dislodge the weapon. It could not, and it soon ceased the struggle because the motion was serving only to drive the point of the sai into its upper palate.

Raph dove, not waiting to watch. The other croc had slid past him and gone under while he'd still been engaged with its buddy, was still hunting the source of the blood-scent.

Had found it.

Megan was fighting the thing, wrestling to get her arm out of the T-shirt, which was snagged tight inside the tip of the crocodile's snout...

Raph slammed a fist down onto its head, between the eyes, shocked at just how hard and tough that scale-covered skull was...it was like hitting stone and he bruised the side of his hand with the blow. It did not let go, but continued to thrash and tear at Meg's arm. Then the shirt gave. She dragged her arm free of it in another cloud of blood, then grabbed after it, catching at the fabric to try and force it over the croc's snout. He blinked in alarm, wondering what she thought she was doing. Then she went kicking for the surface, in desperate need of air. The croc bit at the mouthful of fabric, fooled, for the moment by the bloodied shirt and moved off with it, temporarily triumphant.

Raph went after Megan, gave her badly needed support as she broke the surface and gasped at the air, choking and coughing and looking altogether wretched. Her muscles were shaking. She closed her eyes and let herself go limp in his grasp.

"Raph-" she sputtered. "I couldn't do it Raph!" Her hand closed on one end of his mask trailing in the water behind his head. "Raph, if you can tie its mouth shut then-"

That was what she'd been doing!

 _Yes, dammit!_

He tore his mask off, worked at it with fingers and teeth and then fashioned a quick slip knot into the unwound length of material.

 _Behind you!_ The warning came into his head from nowhere-

Raphael spun in the water just in time to bring one knee up hard under the jaw of the croc that had abandoned the T-shirt and come looking for more substantial fare. It clawed its way over him and he grabbed at its legs, got one arm wrapped around the tail and the other hand locked onto the right hind foot as it went for Megan again. He didn't have enough hands to bring his sai into play. He needed to distract the thing, needed another weapon but-

Another idea snapped into his head. _Of course! Raph, you're such an incredible dimwit!_

Raph pulled the thing's leg back and bit down, as hard as he could across the joint. Meg had said it once, that turtles could inflict a really nasty bite...

The croc reacted all right, whipping the end he was hanging onto, loosening his grip and giving him a good clout right across the ear that left his senses reeling and spinning. He let go, sank a couple of feet with the disorientation and for a second couldn't recall why he had his mask in one hand instead of on his head protecting his ear membranes, which was one of its primary functions.

 _Raph! Move!_

Raphael shook himself in startlement, flipped once more in the water as the crocodile turned on him, deflected the snout with his dagger. It was-

 _It was Leo!_

But he didn't have any time to respond. The croc snapped at him, caught the leather of his elbow pad and yanked at the limb hard, stressing his shoulder and threatening to dislocate the bone there. He kicked it forcefully, landed the blow square on the soft underbelly, close enough that the water stole very little of the momentum. The kick counted.

It let go, stunned by the strike. Raph got the slip knot over its snout, pulled it taut and managed two wraps around the closed jaws before the thing realized what was going on and began the same panicky thrash and roll routine its companion had gone through. It swam off.

Two down.

Raph went back for Meg. She was having serious trouble staying afloat and he got another arm under her again. He was getting tired himself, knew that this could not go on indefinitely. He refused absolutely to look up to the balcony, to the gloating looks that he knew must be there. Instead, he turned and-

A deep cold ran through him, something coming from Leonardo. It was an awful sensation, a gut-level reaction.

A visceral fear.

Raphael's gaze went over to the ledge. The croc with his sai had crawled out onto the concrete and was lying there, quiet in its misery. The other one with his mask was still fighting it, but was doing so on the shallow entry ramp at one end of the ledge. Raphael swallowed hard. The big one-

The big croc was gone.

~o~

Leonardo was feeling jittery and keyed up. He supposed he was drugged again, uppers this time, and felt as if he was treading a very fine line between torpor and hyperactivity. It was an odd sensation.

He was starving. A deeply distracting ache gnawed at his belly, one that was almost impossible to ignore, in spite of an effort to push it to the back of his mind.

They were in way too much trouble for him to be thinking about food.

It had been so nice, waking up to find friendly faces hovering over him for a change. And not nice, because he had some idea of the forces ranged against them. Shredder had made it a point to discuss plans in his semi-conscious presence...a deliberate ploy meant to dishearten him. The ploy had worked. Leo _had_ been disheartened, but it hadn't hurt until April had mentioned crocodiles.

He didn't know who the girl was, had only picked up her name and no one had the time to really fill him in beyond that. But she was obviously on their side, and in as much trouble as Raphael was at the moment, literally in the hands of their enemies, and the both of them about to meet with a fate he wouldn't have wished on anyone...

 _Crocodiles_. He couldn't see any in the tank, wondered where they were. There was another rumble in his gut. Thoughts of hunger and crocodiles together dismayed him considerably. _I should have played dead, not gotten into that mind-link, they might not have come, if they'd thought I was dead, and now Raph is gonna be-_

He found he could not complete the thought.

"No!" Leo breathed an obscenity when the calm of the pool was broken as Tatsu threw the girl into the observation tank. A second turbulent disturbance followed within seconds. That was Raphael.

 _Gotta do something!_ Leo pushed his brothers away, leaned heavily against the glass, thinking furiously. _But we're stuck down here! Can't get out, Shredder didn't leave us a way out and all we can do is sit here and watch when-_

His heart continued to sink, plummeted, when the crocodiles finally put in an appearance. _Damn, but they're bigger than Raph!_ The spiral down went on, as the things circled, one passing quite close to the wall, giving him a real good look at it. They attacked.

 _Raph! No, I can't do anythi-_

 _What! I must be brain-damaged!_ Leo shook his head, cursing himself. There was something he could do. Leo sank down onto his knees, half closed his eyes. He felt Don's hand reach down to touch his shoulder in concern, shook him off. Don would figure it out, in a couple of seconds, and keep April off his back. He tuned out the worried inquiries she'd begun to make, drew his thoughts together and _concentrated._

Raphael could use an extra set of eyes right now...

He sensed a brief startlement from his brothers.

"Oh, yeah!" he heard Mike murmur, then felt him trying to break in on it, him and Don both, once they'd realized what he was trying to do. Leo blocked them, didn't want them in on it, didn't want them all tied up that way under the circumstances. Leo was not even sure that Raphael would get the support he was trying to send...Raphael was too busy to concentrate on a mind-link, and Raph was the one that had to concentrate the most whenever they called up their telepathic skills. Leo wanted Donatello and Michelangelo to be thinking clearly, when Shredder came back for them.

And past that-and far worse to think about-Leo did not want them in on what Raph was going to experience if the crocodiles had their way. Leo would accord Raph the same courtesy Shredder had promised him...

Raphael was not going to die alone, if it came to that.

And that was looking all too likely.

Leo drove his thoughts toward Raph, determined to get through. The two crocs went for them both, Raph and Megan, targeting the girl as she continued to leak blood into the water. There was turbulence, were bubbles and a flurry of motion that made it difficult to follow what was going on. Raph disabled one of the crocs, getting a sai into its mouth, then rescued Megan from the other. Leo watched as it retreated with her T-shirt, biting and tearing at it as if it truly had something edible-his own sense of horror deepened. If he had had any illusions as to what the creature was capable of doing, the sight had dispelled them permanently.

The shirt did not distract it for long, served rather to whet its appetite, it left the shirt adrift and in rags, letting the remnant fall from its jaws as it went back for the real thing.

Raphael was busy at something, he couldn't tell just what-

 _No! Raph!_ Leo put desperate urgency into his effort to get through. _Behind you!_

Raphael spun, grappled with the croc as Megan made another flailing attempt to get out of the way. She wasn't swimming well, was having severe problems trying to keep herself afloat. Raph had the croc by the tail and by the back foot, had run out of limbs to deal with it any further than that.

 _Bite the damn thing!_

Leo seemed to recall a dream fragment, something about biting Tatsu. The memory pulsed through his mind, fleeting and vivid, and at the moment, he wished he could-

Raph had his mask off, trailing from the hand that had the hind limb. Leo figured the why of that out fast.

Raph bit. The croc reacted, dealt with Raph's attack with a counterattack of its own. It turned from Megan, went for his stunned brother instead.

Leo _willed_ Raphael to move, made the sai come up in defence. Raph took it from there, getting in one damaging blow, putting the mask to use in the ensuing quiet from the thing.

It disappeared, went to join its fellow, wherever that one had gotten to.

Leo closed his eyes, breathed a little easier. _But it can't be over, Shredder is still up there and-_

Donatello hissed an obscenity. Michelangelo moaned a response. Leo didn't like the tone from either one of them and opened his eyes again.

Leonardo froze.

He had thought that the other two were _big..._

Ice shot through him. His eyes widened in a terrified kind of surprise. Leo hauled himself to his feet with his hands clenched on the railing, watched as the third crocodile cruised by the view port lazily. It wasn't moving like the other two had. It made a couple of slow circuits around the bottom, hardly seemed interested in the Turtle and the girl swimming there above it. He didn't believe that for a minute.

The thing knew, _knew_ , that it had prey that it could take.

The crocodile went for the surface, with the same lazy, sinuous motion that had taken it around the tank. It didn't rush at its intended victims the way the other two had. Its approach was easygoing and lithe. Raphael took evasive action, dove with Megan, took them both out of the way. The crocodile tightened its circle, stayed on the surface. Kept them under...

Leo leaned against the thick glass, fingers splayed there at the end of an outstretched arm, as if he could reach through the wall and get to Raph that way...

Leonardo blinked, thinking furiously again.

 _Glass-_

~o~

April's hands had been alternately pressed tightly flat to the view port, or wrapped, white-knuckled around the railing that ran the length of the corridor as the underwater conflict had progressed from bad to worse. The huge croc slid by, a few feet away on the other side, making her shudder in helpless empathy for Megan and Raphael. Raphael had coped heroically, better than she would have thought possible for anyone, even the Turtles. But this crocodile - _this_ thing seemed to know what it was doing. Had she thought it was intelligent enough, she might have guessed it was playing with them, but she suspected worse. The crocodile did know, on some instinctive level, how to weaken its prey, to make the killing simple.

It was moving for them again, closing to kill this time.

Megan was in trouble, weakened and disoriented from shock and blood loss. She needed air, and was going for it, oblivious to the threat.

Raphael managed to pull her out of the thing's way, but it meant clamping one hand over her nose and mouth and taking her down to the bottom, and not up to the surface - it couldn't last. He could keep her from taking water into her lungs, but she would asphyxiate all the same if she didn't get a fresh lungful of oxygen soon. Real soon.

Her motions were becoming frantic now...instinct that was making her fight Raph too, looking for that air.

The crocodile turned, picked up speed, and attacked. Deprived of its prey, angered perhaps, it sent that massive tail at them full sweep as it passed by.

The blow took Megan across the chest, dislodging her from Raph's grasp, smashing ribs and propelling what air she did have from her lungs in an explosion of bubbles. Raphael tumbled away in the turbulence, the force of that strike sufficient to knock him back against the glass plate, carapace thudding there hard enough to daze. He sank slightly, shaking his head, recovering quickly to take his bearings.

Looking for Megan.

 _"No, no, no, no..."_ April was chanting denial under her breath. _"No, she's gone - drowned!"_

Megan was no longer moving, her limbs loosely askew, sinking slowly with a trail of tiny bubbles leaking from her mouth.

And the croc was coming around again, looking for prey that was easier now.

Raphael reacted.

April watched him, as if he'd been moving in slow motion. Muscles knotted as Raph's legs bunched under him to spring, feet pressed flat against his side of the glass, simultaneously transferring his remaining sai to his other hand. As the crocodile closed on Megan's limp form, jaws agape, Raphael launched himself right for it -

 _\- and straight into the monster's maw!_

April's mutterings rose to an airless shriek. _"Raph! No!"_ It was nothing less than suicide. _No, no, Raph, she's already gone..._

The huge jaws snapped shut, closing hard on Raphael. The crocodile began to roll and thrash, the motion instinctive to a predator that routinely dismembered its catch.

Leo was shouting behind her. "Don! Mike! Break that glass! Get them out of there!" Leo spun awkwardly. "April - upstairs, now! Casey, get her away from that wall!"

Donatello and Michelangelo _moved._

Don raised his bo, drawing it back double-handed. Mike's 'chuks whirled in a blur. Standing about four feet apart, they chose their optimum striking distance from the view port. Don looked once at Mike.

 _"Now!"_ he breathed.

Bo and 'chuks struck the glass wall in the same instant, fracturing a hairline crack between the two points of impact.

The glass held.

This time.

It would not survive another such deliberate and skilled assault.

Casey was pulling urgently at her elbow. April felt frozen to the spot, numbed as the water on the other side continued to roil. "Com'on babe," Casey told her, urgency in the tone as well as the grip on her arm. "It'll go next time."

She took two uncertain steps, leaden with reluctance, then shook herself, finding motivation when her gaze fixed on Leonardo. "Leo, you too!" Leonardo was still having enough trouble just keeping on his own two feet, never mind dealing with the flood that he had just ordered up. She and Casey gathered him up between them, mounting the shallow steps at the nearer end of the corridor to the halfway point, hoping it would be high enough ground.

Behind them, Donatello was set, bo raised and pulled back again.

Michelangelo was crouching low under the crack that they'd made in the glass, one hand anchored to the railing along the lower edge of the view port. His 'chuks were whirling again, aloft in the other hand.

 _"Center point, Mikie! Go!"_ Don yelled.

Their weapons struck a second time, scarcely an inch apart, both impacting dead on the existing fracture line.

There was a space of silence, measured in milliseconds. Multiple hairline cracks starburst outwards from the center of concussion.

The glass wall exploded.

~o~

It had not been a thinking thing. It had been panic and sheer desperation. That the croc had already killed Meg wasn't something that Raphael even let into his head.

 _Megan!_

 _Leo! Save her!_

He had sensed Leo, had known that intangible mental presence almost as soon as Leo had made the effort. It had buoyed him. There was hope. Leo could solve _anything..._

The panic had hit him, seeing Meg headed for the bottom.

Panic and a primal rage so intense that action had been the only possible resolve.

Reptile to reptile, Raphael intended to kill.

Reflex had pulled his head into his shell as the croc's jaws had closed, and not a fraction of a second too soon. The vise-like pressure surprised and dismayed him...he had trusted entirely to shell strength, not once having encountered anything that might have prepared him for _this..._

He felt stress along his sides, a growing line of fire at seam junctions that left his own murderous intent in ashes. Sharp teeth penetrated the relatively softer plates across his chest, giving the crocodile a firm grip on him. Its tongue slicked unpleasantly across the top of his head, evoking equally unpleasant images in his mind. Blood pounded through his skull, making his eyes feel distended. He squeezed them shut, countering the pressure, tightening his grip on the sai. He raised it, trying to judge the location of the monster's throat. It was fast becoming a matter of self preservation now -

Then it began to roll.

Only the direction of rotation prevented the raised limb from snapping. Raphael lost his sense of balance, direction, and groped blindly at the croc's head with his free hand, seeking an eye, or ear, some weak point - he retained enough presence of mind not to lose the sai.

One leg brushed the side of the tank. He tucked them both up against the force of rotation through the water, praying the thing wasn't smart enough to smash him against one of the concrete walls. His fingers found the croc's ear membrane. He applied pressure.

The rolling motion immediately became a frenzied thrashing that would have shattered the backbone of any other vertebrate prey. Raph felt himself break the surface, lost the support of the water around his legs and kicked futilely before the croc slapped him back down into the pool. He felt ligaments tearing under the force of it.

Red hazed his vision. He fought it, brought his dagger up and started to strike at anything he could reach. The red haze became mottled with black spots. He was starving for oxygen. A different, more self-centered kind of panic touched him now. _This thing can really kill me..._.the thought occurred to him, with the same utter kind of astonishment that he'd felt from Leo when Leo had been struck by the harpoon. He felt dizzy and disoriented. He experienced a variety of pains with unusual lucidity.

Reptile to reptile, Raphael knew then that he had made a very serious mistake.

Another odd sensation impacted faintly on his fading awareness. Once, he had braved the freight elevators of the Empire State Building, on a dare from Michelangelo...and this - _this_ felt like the downward ride, a sudden drop that inertia took a moment to catch up with.

 _About time, Leo._...he thought. _About time..._

~o~


	10. True Forces - Chapter 8

**True Forces Chapter Eight**

Donatello had heard the crack, had anticipated it because he knew what breaking the wall had meant, and he turned, ducking as the glass shattered, getting his head in and tucking limbs as close as possible to the shell. It had cost him his balance and he'd been thrown hard to the cement wall opposing the glass one and pinned there by the force of the flood until gravity had overcome the pressure and sent the water to seek its own level elsewhere. He was on his knees, up to mid-shell in swirling currents and foaming, brackish water. He still had his bo, and used it to haul himself upright, against a sudden pain in the back of his left leg.

Don checked that. A piece of glass, an inch thick and three times that in length, was stuck there. He pulled it out, found it wasn't too serious. He would use his mask, get a wrap on it.

 _After_ he got Raphael out...

Michelangelo was in the tank ahead of him, Megan's limp body his immediate priority. Donatello slogged across the corridor, used his bo to knock free another jagged shard of glass, clearing the return path for Mike. Don spared a glance up toward the balcony.

Shredder and Tatsu were gone.

Probably they had not gone very far.

But it was a possible way out - scale the side of the tank, head for the section of the building still under renovation and get _out._ _Yeah_ , he thought. _Possible._ But they would have to be fast. Faster than Shredder and company, and that wasn't going to be easy. Not with an injured Turtle, a dead girl, and another Turtle about to join her if he didn't do something to get Raph out in one all-fired hurry.

The crocodile had moved, retreating with its prize to a far corner of the tank, as far as it could get from the currents created by the sudden outflow of water. It was still thrashing sporadically, quite determined to hold onto its catch.

Donatello was equally determined to deprive the thing of it. He skirted the creature, avoiding the tail end and gave it a hard prod with the bo, just behind the ear membrane. The tail whipped in response. Don hit it again, harder this time and it turned to swim away, evading the continued harassment. He tried to block the retreat, but the thing was much too big for him, and just swept him aside, taking Raph with it to another, less irritating corner of the tank.

 _I don't have time for this!_ Donatello swore aloud as he slogged after it. _Damn thing'll drown Raph!_ He motioned to Mike as his brother dove back in through the opening, and together, they cornered the crocodile again.

Raphael was still kicking, but weakly, losing the battle.

Mike gave the croc a 'chuk, right between the eyes, making the creature jerk violently, whipping its massive tail end one more time. Don moved in from the side, got one end of the bo wedged into the back of its jaw, just above Raph's head. Mike clubbed it another one, putting desperate force behind the swing, and stunning it to temporary quiet. They didn't waste the opportunity. Mike threw himself onto the thing's back and got the chain of one chuk under its snout, between the upper jaw and Raph's shell. He leaned back against the pressure of the locked maw as Don used the bo as a lever, shouldering the mandibles open with one arm wrapped around the length of the staff. His other arm shot out, as soon as they had clearance enough, and grabbed Raph by the upper rim of his carapace to heave him out of harm's way. Raphael came, flailing feebly, and bloodied all down the length of his plastral plates.

Michelangelo threw himself clear of the croc's back as Don hauled their brother free. The croc was thrashing again, and Don had to drop Raph to fend off a clearly murderous lunge as it realized itself robbed. Raph sank beneath the surface, was rescued by Mike and finally popped out of his shell to exhale explosively and then draw air with a pronounced heaving of his shoulders. He was grasping blindly at Mike for support, his head rolling loosely to one side and his eyes distinctly unfocused. He blinked repeatedly through the disorientation, and then came all at once to his senses.

"Meg!" Raph gasped, all anguish. "Where's - "

"She's with April and Casey," Michelangelo interrupted him to supply the information. "Raph - _Raph_ , she's - "

Raphael didn't wait to hear the rest. He tore himself out of Mike's grip, and went sloshing and staggering toward the gaping hole in the glass wall.

Mike reached after him. _"Raph!"_

"Let him go, Mikie." Donatello intercepted the outstretched arm with one of his own, keeping the rest of his attention on the crocodile. "Let him go. We've got more important things to worry about right now." He let his gaze drift up to the balcony. "Com'ere. I think just maybe we can get out of here..."

~o~

April screamed when the wall went. Leo heard her distantly, his mind still too tied up with Raphael, who was fading, the contact which had been so vivid only a few moments ago becoming ever more tenuous. He was very afraid that Raph was going to die, and that he had left it too late to do something about it.

He watched, again distantly, as tons of water pounded Donatello to the concrete wall at his brother's back. April had shouted Don's name into the din and roar of the flood. There was glass in there too and a very real hazard that Donatello would be cut to ribbons by shards of the wall driven outwards under that sort of pressure. The water had mostly cascaded over top of Michelangelo, and Mike was now hauling himself through the opening against the reduced torrent into the tank. There was three feet of water in the corridor, the whole length, but it was draining quickly down the narrow hallway and the stairwell to the sub-basement.

Leonardo was hoping it would wreak some havoc downstairs - he'd seen the door marked ELECTRICAL on the way up, and he was assuming that the main power junctions were down there. The water wouldn't do them much good. Leo hadn't forgotten about all those Foot warriors, the dozens and dozens of them that Shredder had brought against them already. A sudden loss of power might be the only advantage they'd get.

For sure, Shredder was _not_ going to be standing still for this.

Casey gave April a rough shake. "You know CPR babe?" he asked her. "Ever take a course?"

April looked up, still horrified by what was going on around her. "Huh? Yeah, I did, once. Second year journalism," she supplied inanely. "You?"

Casey had just shrugged at her humourlessly. "You've taken it once more than me." He turned and slogged into the churning water, on his way to meet Mike.

Mike was crawling back through the opening, hauling Megan's limp form with him. Together they heaved her to the stairs. Casey wasted no time with Megan. He threw her down, face towards the floor and pressed his hands to her back, forcing the water out of her lungs hard.

"You'll hurt her!" April exclaimed, surprised by the force that he put into it. Both the floor and the stairs were concrete. Probably it _would_ hurt.

"Doubt that, babe," was Casey's only reply. "You ready?"

Leo thought that April looked anything but. She nodded though, swallowing hard, and when Casey flipped the girl over she put the heel of her hand on Megan's chest and started to pump it as if she knew what she was doing. Casey had tilted the girl's head up, pinching nostrils, and tried to breathe the life back into her.

There was nothing Leo - or any of the Turtles - could have done to help. They just weren't designed right for it...Casey and April were the only hope that Megan had. Mike was already on his way back for Raphael, and Don was in the tank ahead of him, his bo up and ready to beat the crocodile into submission if he had to. There was still enough water in the tank to make things difficult...the croc still had depth to maneuver. Depth enough to drown Raph if they didn't get him out of there soon.

He was not accustomed to helplessness. He didn't like it at all. Leo concentrated, hanging onto the thin thread of consciousness linking him to Raphael.

He was still ravenously hungry, and that kept distracting him. So too did the worry about Shredder and company. He closed his eyes, tried to focus his attention. There had to be a way out of this, there just had to be, but he didn't know what...he wasn't sure where he was exactly, didn't know the layout of the place. Raphael _must_ have had a plan...

No, maybe not. Raphael seldom planned anything.

That Shredder would bring crocodiles into it probably hadn't occurred to him. To any of them.

Certainly Raph couldn't have planned for these circumstances. Their numbers were reduced already. He could hardly count on himself, and Raphael was not in good shape. Leo had felt the pain, had read Raph's own knowledge of certain injury in the mind touch. And this girl -

Leo felt the panic again, coming from Raph. Panic and further disorientation, but both sensations were stronger now. He opened his eyes, craning his neck to see what was happening in the tank. They had Raph out! Don and Mike had him out! Leo flooded over with relief. Now, if only they could do something about Shredder -

A minute and a half had passed. Maybe a full three minutes from the time that the crocodile had struck Megan.

Raphael came limping in. Leo watched him, his gaze going past Casey and April and the work they were doing trying to revive the girl, their movements sure and desperate at once. Raph didn't look at him. Raph's eyes went straight to the stilled form that was the object of the intense activity. He was moving slowly, heavily favouring his right leg and panting for breath. His plastron was all damaged, bearing a symmetrical constellation of puncture wounds, the deepest of which were bleeding tiny rivulets down the whole length of the shell and spoiling the symmetry. Raph reached the stairwell, leaning with fatigue against the railing, watching Megan with a desperate hope in his eyes.

 _Megan._ Raphael had communicated the name to him with incredible intensity - an urgency hammer-driven by the panic that was tied to the name in Raph's mind. Leo had never felt anything with such clarity from Raph before - Raph had to work at the mind-skills and he was by nature the least apt at it of the four of them.

The urgency was still there. Raphael was radiating distress as lack of success became more apparent in what the two humans were trying to do. Leo's eyes flicked down to the stairs. He saw April falter and glance up at Raph, saw defeat in the set of her shoulders.

Raph saw it too, read what was there in April's face, although her hands had continued to work. His brother straightened, the distress drowning in denial and something else, potent and nameless, that Leo couldn't identify. Raph's shoulders fell, and the one sai he still possessed dropped from fingers that had gone lifeless, the denial overturning into a desolation so deep that Leo moaned softly in response.

He had never seen Raph lose the will to fight.

 _Never._

Raph looked stricken, the desolation he was feeling mirrored on his face, the hurt there plain to see, especially without the mask.

Leo had to do _something._

He moved. "Look out April," he said, pushing April out of the way. Leo brought his fist down hard on the girl's chest, over her heart, then resumed the motions that April had been making, but at twice the strength.

Casey glanced up in surprise. "Okay." It was his only comment. He drew another deep breath and went back to his own task.

Leo concentrated, noticing only peripherally as April moved back, moving to stand close to Raphael, to give his brother a sympathetic or hopeful squeeze on the arm. Leo focused on what he was doing.

 _Damn!_ he thought. _How long does it take?!_ He was thinking of brain damage, knew that it only took a few minutes of oxygen deprivation to do irreparable things...

That was all any of them had - a few minutes, before Shredder would show up again and do something equally irreparable. If Megan didn't come out of it soon, she would have to be abandoned. There would be no choice, and it would be too late for her, in any case.

"Com'on baby!" Casey hissed at the girl. "Dammit, _breathe!_ " Casey's fingers went to the pulse point on Megan's throat, looking for heart action. "Got a pulse! Stop it Leo, let's see if it's real!"

Leo stopped.

The pulse did not.

Casey bent again, gave the girl another lungful of air. Cursed her again, begged her to breathe. Shook her shoulders in desperation. _"Do it!"_

She did.

Choking and coughing, Megan drew air. Casey flipped her over again, putting her head down to slap her back and then to pull her arms up, making her diaphragm work. She sucked air again, more strongly, coughed once more, bringing up additional fluids.

Leo slumped back, drained by the effort, trying to catch breath himself. He closed his eyes, willing the ache in his side away, listening as the girl continued to cough and sputter painfully, gasping at the life-giving air and moaning once, long and with physical hurt. Her ribs were broken, several of them, and ordinary breathing would have brought pain - the coughing must have been agony.

But she was alive.

Leo opened his eyes, met April's across the girl's slowly moving form. Casey was helping Megan gently to her knees, weak and only semi-conscious. Raph had gone down to his own knees, was crawling across the step to reach out and touch her shoulder as if he didn't really believe she was alive at all.

Casey pushed the girl over and into Raphael's grasp, trading her for the sai that he went to pick up from the place it had fallen onto the stairs.

April threw her arms around Casey briefly, got one hug back as he lifted the sai to look at it. Leo knew he wasn't much good with the weapon, but it beat the hell out of no weapon at all, and he'd seen Raph use it enough to have a general idea what to do with it. Casey was pretty good at improvisation, he would manage, somehow, with the dagger.

"Get Leo, babe," he said. "We're outta here." He cast a glance up to the doors above them, the ones that The Foot had locked, and were all too likely to be unlocking in short order.

Then April was there at his own shoulder again, getting set to haul him back down the corridor. Leo was still watching Raph - the desolation was gone, replaced now by simple exhaustion. That, and the nameless something, vast and full of relief, as his brother got one arm under Megan's shoulders and helped as Casey pulled the two of them to their unsteady feet. Raph's right leg was swelling badly.

"Leo?" April queried him, worry in her tone.

He shook his head. "Nothin', April." he told her. "I just think I've got a lot of serious catching up to do..."

~o~

Tatsu's normal mode of communication consisted of a vast array of grunts and monosyllables, no matter what language he happened to be speaking. That had not changed when the water level in the quarantine pool had dropped suddenly and dramatically. Tatsu had been standing just behind his shoulder, and had gone instantly ramrod straight when the change took place. The monosyllables he was uttering now had merely become as profane as they had become profuse.

Shredder himself was echoing those sentiments silently and with a fury that was every bit as sudden and dramatic - their plans had not left room for _this -_

His prisoners had just committed an act of unforeseen vandalism, putting a hole in their plans that was larger and more far-reaching in scope than the one that they had just put into the side of the observation tank.

 _No! No, they simply could not be doing this! Curse them all to a Shinto hell and back, they could_ _not_ _be!_

Shredder had turned, following Tatsu, who had spun on the instant and gone at a run toward the double set of doors, heading for the docking bay and their remaining forces. It was the source of the profanity - they had dismissed the bulk of their manpower, sending them homewards once the creatures had been trapped, reducing the risk of discovery and having felt that their presence was thereafter superfluous and the automatic weaponry sufficient to finish the task of taking the mutants and their companions captive. The contingent that had stayed bore the machine guns, several of them in fact, but they were not _here_ at the moment, and ignorant as well of the new developments.

Tatsu had reasons for the haste.

It would be enough, Shredder told himself. The mutants were still outnumbered and definitively outgunned. They would be contained and retaken. But there was doubt - the weight of numbers had always proven the most effective means of dealing with these things. They were too bloody full of surprises.

And, it occurred to him again, they had not yet seen any sign of the Rat anywhere...

Shredder was cursing himself as much as his enemies. They should have instructed those warriors to disarm the creatures while they'd been under the gun - barehanded, the action they had just undertaken would not have been possible - but it had not seemed necessary at that point.

He cursed himself doubly. He _should_ have thought of it, should have considered the possibility that not every panel of the viewport was made of the same material as the one he'd leaned against. Certainly at least one of them had been glass, and therefore been vulnerable. He had not even considered that the wall was a potential route to freedom for the creatures. _Breaking_ it was not a thought that had come to him, or to Tatsu either. It was not a thought that would have come to anyone in a sane and reasonable frame of mind.

He had underestimated their degree of desperation and the lengths to which they would subsequently go, and he should have known better.

Shredder had watched these Turtles throw their weapons away, all of them, for the sake of only one. He had counted on them to follow the pattern, to come here tonight, for Leonardo, all of them again. And they _had_ come, driven by that same loyalty-beyond-reason, all of them had not only come, but had brought their friends too.

He should have known, should have anticipated that they would do no less for the one that had thrown itself into the pool after the girl. They had left it too late to save her life. She had gone to the bottom, was dead now, and the creature that had named itself Raphael was very close to joining her in the same state.

The elation, the _satisfaction_ , he'd been enjoying, seeing it kicking inside the crocodile's jaws had vaporized in the heat of the rage that the attempt to rescue it had ignited.

Shredder strode after Tatsu, the rage translating into energetic motion that was bridled by the pain in his left thigh, a further antagonizing annoyance that filled him with murderous thoughts centering on the Turtle responsible for the ache. He would kill it, that creature in the orange mask, kill it himself or just let one of his armed warriors do it if it attempted to escape, and to hell with studying the thing. That could be done posthumously, indeed it could, and at the moment he would be happy to forgo the pleasure of depriving it of its life slowly in favour of mowing it down in a hail of bullets.

There were others, that he could substitute for the slow means...

But first and foremost, they had to be contained. He had seen how these things could _move_ , and even if the lower corridor had been enough to confine them, he knew that the drained pit of the quarantine pool would not.

And just where was Splinter!?

 _Curse them all!_

It was starting to unravel, the whole operation, just as it had a week ago.

His Foot had secured the immediate premises, the building itself and the adjacent grounds. But the whole of the zoo was not secured. It was possible that the things might escape.

They would go to ground, or try to, try to get into their favoured storm drains outside, and those they still had sewn up with several dozen Foot also equipped with firearms.

The creatures feared guns, and those he still had in plenty.

It would be enough, he assured himself again. Those shells were no proof against bullets and the threat of gunfire had sufficed to immobilize them once tonight already. It would suffice again.

Shredder slowed. The Turtles would try to get out through the renovations and construction, try to reach that non-wall of scaffolding and plastic sheeting which was all that barred their way to freedom on that side of the building. They could not be fast enough, burdened with their dead and injured. The crocodile must have killed Raphael by now, and if it hadn't they would stop to rescue it. Might even stop to recover the corpse, fearing discovery as they did and knowing there would be no safety for them anywhere if such a corpse actually turned up in the wake of the media coverage he had already provided.

His own forces would be organized much more quickly than that, and no matter what their state of desperation, escape would take them a certain amount of _time_ _.._

Time was still on his side, and the night far from over yet.

When Tatsu reappeared, armed Foot following, Shredder appropriated one of the automatic weapons for himself and checked it, flipping the safety catch off. His bo was not the only weapon he knew how to use effectively...

~o~

The sai felt alien in his hands. Casey Jones wasn't sure he liked the feel of it, just as he had never liked the feel of any Turtle's weapon in his hands.

This thing was not a piece of sports equipment turned to another use, and there had always been something about that that made his own aggressive tendencies seem more innocent when compared to the truly violent purposes for which real weapons had been made.

April had assured him many times that wasn't the case, and that aggression was never innocent and they had argued about it a number of times without ever having come close to resolving the issue.

He decided at the moment that it didn't matter. Ancient oriental hand-weapon or misused sports equipment probably wasn't going to make a whit of difference in the face of the machine guns that had already been presented to them once. The Foot was playing for keeps tonight.

The water level was down to only an inch or two now and what was still leaking through the hole in the glass was nothing more than a slight trickle. That hole was the door out, and he wasn't going to waste precious time standing around down here waiting for the gateway to be closed. Casey levered Raphael up, allowing Raph to support the girl's weight as he in turn provided the support that Raph was lacking in his injured leg. Megan moaned, a dead mass in the Turtle's grip. She was only intermittently conscious, not at all aware of where she was or what was happening. He wished her into unconsciousness - it would hurt less when the gunfire came, not to be aware, and he almost envied her that. April had Leonardo up on his feet again, looking grimly determined.

 _Oh, April, baby, just let's get out of this and I'll never start another fight ever again..._

It had been one thing to lose her over a bunch of silly arguments. It was another thing altogether to think that he was going to lose her, permanently, to Shredder's machine guns. Not that he was any more apt to survive to worry about it.

The water remaining in the quarantine pool was deeper than he'd hoped, as the tank extended below the floor level of the corridor. But it wasn't deep enough to provide any buoyancy for Megan, Raphael or Leonardo. It had been a minor difficulty, getting through the hole, over the railing and the base of the support wall. Casey looked now up to the balcony, at the sheer face of the pool's side and wondered how they were going to scale it with these three -

Where the hell were Mike and Don?

There didn't seem to be anyone about. He felt jumpy. Nervous. _Guns,_ he kept thinking. _They've got guns._

"Hey!" he called out, surprised by the way his voice echoed in the pool. "Hey! Yo, Donatello!?" The huge bulk of the crocodile was gathered into a corner of the tank. He was apprehensive, and wishing the sai had a little more reach, like a bo, for fending off any hostile approach the thing might make. Raphael hadn't taken his eyes off it.

But the crocodile didn't move from its place. Probably it had taken enough abuse for one night.

A second later something came flopping over the side of the tank, a sudden motion in the tail of his eye that made him drop Raph in startlement and spin with the sai up. Raph stumbled down into the water, struggling to keep Megan above the surface and swearing aloud.

"Sorry," Casey apologized, as soon as he'd seen that it was a fire hose that had come spilling over the side, that accompanied by Michelangelo, who scaled it down into the tank nimbly and came to help.

"Coast is clear," Mike reported. "Don't expect it'll last though. Let's get a move on here...com'on Raph, give her up!" Mike reached and took Meg from his brother, who released her with some reluctance.

Casey got an arm under Raph, then dragged him over through the water and got the other one under Leo's elbow too, taking some of the Turtle's weight from April. The wall wasn't far, but it seemed high, viewed from the base. Don and/or Mike had tied a quick loop into the fire hose that they had turned to other purposes.

"You're first, babe," Casey pushed April to the hose with the arm behind Leo's back. She put one foot into the loop and Donatello hauled up on the hose to pull her over the balcony by an outstretched arm. The loop came back down. Leo and then Raph went next, in quick succession.

 _Where's Shredder? Where? He didn't go home, no way!_

Casey's nerves were growing more raw by the second. He shoved the sai through a belt loop, took Megan from Mike, slung the limp girl over one shoulder in a graceless support that was better suited to a bag of hockey equipment. He put his foot into the loop. Michelangelo boosted the double weight as Donatello hauled from above. Casey scrambled over the railing and got his foot free fast. Michelangelo joined them only a seeming second or so later.

They reorganized themselves, Meg back to Raph and Leo back to April. Don and Mike kept themselves unburdened, ranged themselves to either end of the string of injured parties. They were moving silently, using hand signals and whispers that didn't echo in the high spaces of the gallery. They had gotten this far without opposition. The gallery was _just_ around the corner from the construction, the open wall just around a ninety-degree bend -

Casey didn't like it. His gut tightened, for no apparent reason. He still couldn't see any enemies -

Then, inexplicably, Leo stopped, gazing around with an unfocused look in his eyes and dragged April to a halt. She pulled at him. "Leo!"

 _"Splinter's coming!"_ Leo whispered urgently into the quiet. "We've got to get - "

Another sound intruded into the quiet. A rustle and scuffing of booted feet. Casey froze, then slowly let Raphael slip out from under his arm to turn as he pulled the sai from the place he'd left it in his belt loop.

The intrusive rustling was followed by a much more ominous sound, a small metallic clicking, a succession of such sounds, both behind and in front of them.

The guns had come, and the safeties were off.

He caught sight of two black clad Foot emerging from behind the plastic sheeting hung from the scaffolds of their intended escape route, firearms lowered, as he continued to make his turn. Everywhere he looked, more of the same. And there, in the narrow hallway, was Tatsu, likewise armed and staring right at him.

Casey identified the malicious glee in Tatsu's eyes, went cold right to the core, because that look was for him alone. Tatsu was standing just in front of Shredder, who gave their gathering a moment to consider their position before stepping to the fore of his own group.

Shredder also had one of the machine guns, slung casually by its strap over one bladed shoulder. It was the only weapon not raised, but he nonetheless had it firmly by the trigger, and getting it up, Casey was convinced, would not have taken more than a microsecond.

The quiet had gone deadly.

Shredder took one step further forward.

Casey Jones swallowed hard, glanced around at his companions. He blinked, nervously. All the Turtles had gone unfocused, had gone glazed, like Leonardo. _What the hell is -_

He almost jumped out of his skin when Leo put his snout up and shouted, "Get into the back!" Leo's voice echoed through the gallery, eerie and reverberating in the continued quiet.

It was a nonsense instruction. Leo had lost it, something had snapped and Leo had gone over the edge -

Casey was wrong.

It was all simultaneous. The shout had startled him, and it had startled their enemies, brought the weapons to bear more closely, if that was possible. The Turtles had gone tense, primed to move. Shredder's weapon had started to move up, into position. From outside, there had come the sound of squealing tires.

The scaffolding exploded inwards, the plastic sheeting tore.

The two Foot there scattered for their lives as one of their own small box vans came through the construction site at high speed, bringing a cloud of masonry dust and collapsing steel with it. The van swerved into the building, narrowly missing the inner wall, skidding past their own scattering group to spin across the balcony toward the pool, likewise dispersing their foes on that side of the gallery. One of The Foot let go with his weapon, spraying bullets into the ceiling, taking out a number of the lights and making the rest flicker momentarily, adding to the abrupt confusion.

As the van rounded in the confined space, Casey Jones blinked in astonished disbelief. _Hot damn! I didn't even know he could drive..._

It was Splinter behind the wheel.

~o~

Michelangelo had known, since down in the lower corridor, that Leo had been in mental contact with Raphael. Leo had blocked both him and Donatello out of it, the only one of the four of them that knew how to control the mind-skills with that sort of finesse.

Leo had always been their psychic mainstay, the one that made it easy and carried the rest of them along. It had been hard work, even with the remaining three of them together, to concentrate and go looking for Leo the other day.

Leo was not blocking them now. Quite the opposite. As they had started across the open space of the gallery toward the exit, Leonardo had called them all in, summoned them to consolidate and co-ordinate their individual defensive and/or offensive actions.

Made it _easy._

It all clicked. It was exhilaration, joy amidst the danger. Mike hadn't thought they'd ever manage it again.

They were _one..._

And Splinter was a part of that unit too, was a power and direction and a steadying influence that took all the hopelessness away. He shared his brother's viewpoints and knowledge and senses. They communicated the same to Splinter, and when the van came crashing through the side of the building, they all moved as if following a well mapped out plan - they were not in the van's path, and Splinter had known to avoid that dangerously close inner wall, knew where their enemies were situated and put the van in their way. Even Leo and Raph had moved as if their injuries didn't exist, and had gotten April and Casey and Megan out of the way.

Donatello, closest to the place of entry, had cart-wheeled as the van had skidded past, had gone to the sprawled Foot by the collapsing wreckage and taken that one out with an expert kick. His companion joined him, victim to the bo, as Don had continued the forward motion through the cloud of dust and felled him with a single swing.

Michelangelo had moved too, before Splinter had even completed the turn into the gallery, taking himself to the narrow corridor nearest, the one opposite Shredder's, spinning and flipping into range of the three Foot occupying that niche. Only two of them had the guns, and he took them down first, while they were still distracted by Splinter's spectacular arrival. They had started to raise the guns again, but weren't quick enough. Mike leapt up, took them both out with a double flying kick, sent them sailing backward, one into the third Foot behind them; just one follow through punch put that one into the same state as his cohorts.

He relieved them quickly of their guns, knowing the odds were suddenly even as he did so, and went charging back to the balcony, tossing one of the guns to Casey just as Splinter was bringing the van to a clumsy halt. He had never used such a weapon, never even seen, let alone picked one up. He thought he had the theory down...

Mike whipped the gun up, found that his finger was too big for the trigger guard and instead snagged the trigger with the corner of his fingernail. He pulled back on it. _"Cowa-"_ Another sudden spray of bullets went to the ceiling, doing more damage. The kickback sent Mike to the floor skidding on his back shell. _"-bunga?"_ He finished his battle cry with a surprised squeak. But the experience solved the technical problem. He was up on his feet again, and signalling to Casey as Splinter pushed the van into forward motion.

They split to either end of it, rounding the vehicle - the doors at the back were flung wide, ready to receive passengers. Mike and Casey closed their ranks, providing cover for April and Leo and Raph, who, between the three of them, were managing Megan McLaine's limp weight. Their raised weapons greeted their foes, as the latter picked themselves up from the places they'd dived to for safety when the van had come hurtling toward them, bringing with it a halo of scaffolding and debris.

It had taken less a minute, start to finish.

Both Shredder and Tatsu alike still had their own firearms, but they didn't bring them up, not in the face of the suddenly well-armed assault team that had materialized there in front of them, just beyond the dust and debris.

"Cowabunga, dudes," Michelangelo chirped. "How's the leg there, Shredder?" Mike made the inquiry brightly.

A cold, black rage was seething in Shredder's eyes. There was a snarl fixed onto Tatsu's face and Tatsu growled, a low, mean sound in the back of his throat. There was disbelief in both of their expressions, vivid under the rage. Tatsu actually began to bring his weapon up, but Shredder stopped him, slapping a hand onto the barrel of the weapon and shoving it back down.

The action made Casey smile broadly, further infuriating Tatsu.

"Yo, Tinkerbell - " Casey greeted him, gushing mock-friendliness. "Tee-off time again, eh?"

Casey had a wicked sense of humour. Michelangelo grinned.

The growling deepened, as did the color of Tatsu's face. It might have been fun to stay, Mike thought, but they were very short on time, had to get going, get out of the zoo fast - Splinter had attracted attention, and there was urgency in what Leo was sending now.

It was going to be tricky, without killing anyone.

Without getting killed.

"Get into the van," Mike told Casey. "I'll be right behind you."

"Got it." Casey edged along the side of the van, as it began to move slowly forward.

"Sorry we can't stay to party dudes," Michelangelo apologized, taking a step back, reading multiple intentions in his head from Don and Splinter and Leo. "Gotta go."

He didn't turn, but read from Leo that Casey had him covered, was standing in the back of the van, precariously balanced with one foot in the cargo space and the other shoved into the spare tire rack on the inside door. Casey was leaning over top of that door, gun in hand.

Splinter was going to need some speed, didn't have much space to get it. There was scaffolding in the way now, littered askew and not so easy to break through on the way out. Donatello was in an awkward spot. Mike worried. Don had a plan to cope. Leo gave them both a hard mental push. _Go!_

Michelangelo threw himself into the back of the van, pulling Casey and consequently the door in after him. Casey ducked, getting his head and weapon in, and they spilled down to the floor of the van, flat on top of the other bodies hanging on there as Splinter put his foot to the pedal, sending the vehicle hurtling back toward the outdoors.

 _"Heads down!"_ Leo yelled. _"They'll - "_

Gunfire ripped into the cargo space above their heads, bullets coming abruptly, easily through the moulded steel of the side panels. April let out a surprised shriek, covering her head with her hands. Raph threw himself over Megan, who did not respond. Casey swore, but that was drowned out as the van hit the scaffolding, and the decibel level rose with a loud metallic grinding and grating all around the van's exterior. The vehicle bounced over rough ground, hit one of the construction barriers and made a sharp turn to the left.

 _"What about Don?!"_ April screamed. "You didn't get - "

"Goin' for him now!" Leo shouted back. "He'll meet us at the docking bay!"

Casey climbed over Mike, moving for the front seat; Splinter wasn't a very good driver - the van lurched, rounding the driveway that went to the rear of the building, sped into the open space that served as a turning area for larger trucks.

 _"Don's coming!"_ Mike yelled, the sense of the effort strong, Donatello pelting through the concrete corridors...Don had run for the narrow hallway, vaulted the limp forms of the three Foot Mike had dealt with and raced for the exit, racing enemies who had probably seen where he'd gone and knew there was only one place he could be headed. Don had the longer course to run, might not get there first. Splinter pulled the wheel over hard. Harder than he should have, and the luck they had been riding ran out -

The van skidded, moving too fast for the turn, slid a few feet, and then toppled over onto its side, spilling all occupants to the roof that had suddenly become the left-hand wall.

Casey swore again.

"Everyone out!" Mike shouted. _"The manhole!"_ He'd been there, just a week ago, knew where it was, there, practically right behind the disabled van, they could just hop out the back and get _down..._

"Do it Mikie!" Leo again. "Get the lid off!" Leo pushed April toward the back. "Casey - get your gun! We're gonna need cover!"

Mike pried the manhole cover up, held it to provide whatever shelter it was worth, watching the service entrance rather than their escape route. There were shadows moving there, multiple shadows.

 _Donatello!_ He had picked up a flash of desperation...Don's leg was hurting. Mike felt the echo of the pain.

Don came bursting out of the wide doorway there, had his bo up and held firmly by one end. He sprinted for the edge of the dock, put the bo down and hurled himself over the open space like a pole-vaulter. The other shadows caught up with him, guns raised and firing as they rounded the same wide doorway. By then, Don was below the plane that the line of fire ripped through.

Casey returned fire, scattering those ranks as they began their own filing descent into the manhole. Donatello scrambled toward them, just a short distance now as the vault had put him close to that manhole, still communicating, and he took Megan from Raph who could never have climbed down that ladder with the girl slung over one shoulder.

Leo was already down, and April and now Raph. Don went, with Meg. Then Splinter.

It left Mike and Casey topside amid a hail of bullets. A number of those had struck the manhole cover, making him blink and wince, but the heavy iron lid served. Casey had taken shelter along the underside of the van, was pulling the sai from his belt loop. _What for?_ he found the microsecond to wonder, before he realized that the strike plate under the van was dislodged and askew. - and Casey took the advantage and slammed the sai into the van's gas tank, exposed there on the bottom of the truck.

Jerking it free, Casey caught Mike's gaze and nodded once to him as petroleum vapours filled the air and the fluid spilled onto the pavement. They would have to be real fast...the asphalt sloped right into the manhole. Mike gave him the thumbs up, and maneuvered himself onto the ladder, balancing the cover precariously on his shell and pressing himself as close as possible to one side of the opening. Casey tossed him a book of matches. Mike set them alight, nodded again. He could hear sirens in the distance. Time to go for sure.

Casey dove for the shelter of the hole, slithering down head first. Mike threw the matches, ducked and let the steel cover come down hard on top of the hole. He grabbed one of Casey's legs, began a quick descent down the ladder with his teeth grating, counted... _now!_

The van exploded, sent a shock wave through the ground that almost dislodged the two of them from their less-than-secure position in the vertical tunnel. Michelangelo continued the awkward climbing slide downwards, and they both tumbled off the ladder and into the gutter in a tangled heap at the bottom. They came up smiling and congratulating one another, then lost their grins fast when April came to stand in front of them, livid and with her hands planted on hips, covered in sludge and grime.

 _"What the hell did you two just do?!"_

~o~

Tatsu very seldom lost it.

Shredder had only seen it three times, in close to seventeen years. Twice, there had been a woman involved, and twice, Tatsu had lost his characteristic cool and killed. Shredder had been indifferent. He had been known to behave irrationally in the matter of women himself, and he expected little different from those around him. It had been Tatsu's business, and so long as it hadn't interfered with Foot affairs, he had refused to entangle himself in it. The third time had been last fall, and he had accepted a portion of the blame, because he had pushed him to it. Tatsu had struck and killed one of his own warriors after they had lost the Turtles - he had expected Tatsu to return victorious, and placed overmuch responsibility there for that failure.

They had simply not known then what they were dealing with - the Turtles were _not_ like some rival clan.

They had both overreacted, on that occasion.

Tatsu was overreacting now, and he had been that close himself. Oddly, it was Tatsu's lack of control that re-established his own. One of them had to be thinking, had to be dealing sanely with this - there was that to consider, and there were also those machine guns that their enemies had acquired by some miracle in the space of a few seconds.

The Turtle was spouting insolent comments again, had found the tongue it had lacked the previous week. The hood, likewise was throwing out insults, and the barbs were all aimed directly at Tatsu, keeping Tatsu's self discipline at bay.

They were _smiling..._

He understood Tatsu's inclination to kill.

Shredder was thinking again, enraged, because it was that cursed creature in the orange facing him with the gun and a smile, but he was thinking nonetheless.

It was the Rat, _that slinking verminous Rat,_ behind this current disastrous turn of events.

And the Rat had just put a severe time-limit on tonight's operation, debacle that it had just become, and getting out without detection was now his number one priority.

 _They are going to get away. They are going to escape, all the mutants and Leonardo too..._

 _Tatsu was right, we should not have brought the thing along._

They had to get their own men out. They could not afford to have any one of them taken by the authorities. What had happened here tonight in the quarantine building was going to have to remain as much a mystery as what had happened the previous week.

The Foot Clan could _not_ be connected with the events.

The wrath he felt was deep and cold. He recognized the realities though, in spite of the rage, knew that the tables had turned and that there was little to be done about it. He was doing mental calculations, gauging the police response time to the calls that someone here in the zoo had to be placing to the authorities.

There had been gunfire, damage and a strange vehicle careening wildly about the premises, with further damage.

It could not have gone unnoticed.

Time was no longer on their side.

He had stopped Tatsu from bringing his weapon into play. The Turtle he did not believe would have murdered them on the spot - the creatures didn't seem to have that killer instinct - but it was handling the gun badly, and accidents could happen. The hood, however, he imagined might respond lethally and indiscriminately to Tatsu's intentions.

The hood had shown little enough compunction in his handling of the compactor controls in that garbage truck.

Raphael, wounded and bleeding, was still alive, and hauling the girl's dead weight into the truck. It had help from the O'Neil woman and Leonardo, who was moving with more agility than he would have credited to the thing with its injuries. The hood joined them, put the gun up to cover the quick retreat that the orange-masked creature made a second or so later.

There was still one Turtle loose, and it ran for its life when the van departed without it, ducking debris and bullets as they at last brought their weapons into play, almost the same instant that the hood lost his threatening vantage from the van's back door.

Shredder shouted orders for two of the men behind him to cut off the loose one's escape. The others he held back with a sharp instruction, and orders to gather up their scattered and unconscious comrades.

Tatsu had spun after the first two, intent on reaching the docking bay before that single creature. Shredder had stopped that too...he needed Tatsu here, and caught him by the fabric at the shoulder of the ornate dogi to throw him into the wall nearest. It had taken that physical shock just to get his attention.

 _"Tatsu!"_ The killing rage was still there, and Tatsu fought the restraining arm that he laid across his chest. "We must get out! Everyone!"

Tatsu always reverted to his native tongue under stress and the snarling response came in Japanese. "They must not escape! I will go after them, Master Saki, let me - "

" _No!"_ Shredder ignored the reversion to his true name. "Tatsu, _think!_ We must not be traced to these events. We must escape ourselves - gather your warriors! There is no time to pursue the mutants! Your men in the sewers will have to take them. _Warn them!_ It is not over yet!"

Some semblance of sanity came back into the eyes. He had gotten through - Tatsu was thinking again, quickly assessing the current situation. The hot rage cooled, went to another icy promise of vengeance. Tatsu lowered his eyes. "Master Shredder," it was apology and obeisance at once. "Release me. We will not be taken."

"Go, quickly. I will see to the docking bay. Abandon the vehicles, we will not get them out now. Warn those in security, have them stall the authorities. Avoid zoo personnel, but kill any witnesses."

Tatsu nodded curtly, and went, cold now and clear-headed in the face of the crisis.

Shredder turned back down the narrow hallway, went in pursuit of the two warriors with the guns. He ran, hearing gunfire ahead of him - they could ill-afford to kill that loose creature anymore, there was no means to get the thing away - they could always just leave the thing for the authorities. It would compound the difficulties for the other ones if the corpse was taken officially and he could let the city bear the expense and trouble of hunting the rest of them down.

Except that the things had tongues, and knew too much -

The two warriors were still firing indiscriminately at the rear of the building. Shredder rounded the corner, saw his enemies making good their escape, caught a glimpse of the Rat slinking right back into the storm drains - that, at least, they had had the foresight to plan for.

They had more warriors, placed strategically in those storm drains for a number of blocks surrounding the zoo. Tatsu had poured over schematics and blueprints stolen from the Department of Public Works, had marked out and manned a perimeter that should still catch their quarry.

He was entertaining half a notion to go down there after them, to trail them back to their lair and then finish them before they could recoup their strength and -

And then unexpectedly the van erupted into a violent inferno blasting outward, tossing the two men on the dock asprawl. He had time to duck the shockwave, throwing himself sidelong back down the hallway and into a shoulder roll.

Shredder fetched up against the opposite wall, cursing and actually envying both the raw luck and the inate cleverness that his enemies seemed to possess.

 _That_ had been quick thinking; an intelligent improvisation and an effective means to thwart immediate pursuit. He shouted for the two men on the dock to retreat.

 _Gods curse them, all of them!_

Now they were going to have to evade not only the police, but the fire department as well...

~o~

"It was just a little distraction for them, babe," Casey Jones sounded apologetic as he climbed to his feet. "Don't want them to spoil our parade now do we?"

Splinter cast his glance around the group assembled there in the gutter, feeling dismay as it settled over the momentary elation he'd experienced as their escape had materialized, against all the odds.

But they had paid, were still paying, and the sum total would perhaps be more than they could afford.

"There are other accesses," Splinter said urgently.

Casey and Michelangelo were behaving as if they were all through for the night, and that was a far cry from the truth. April's anger with them was in some measure justified. Leonardo had slumped down against the sewer wall, and Raphael had gone down beside him, scarcely in better condition. Donatello was shifting anxiously, had un-slung Megan McLaine from his shoulder and was cradling her now in both arms with her head rolled loosely up against his chest plates. Donatello was bleeding too, but the injury did not seem to be a serious one.

Splinter moved to check the girl, assured himself hastily that she was still alive. "Be careful of her, Donatello," he cautioned. "You will have to carry her."

He turned his attention to the two Turtles slumped shoulder to shoulder against the wall. He took the moment, laid a hand on each of their heads. "Leonardo - " he whispered. "Raphael...my sons, I - "

Leonardo got one hand up weakly to ruffle the fur behind his neck. "Master Splinter - " It was all he seemed able to get out and his voice trailed off. "Later, Master Splinter." There was too much to say, and no time. Leonardo knew.

"I told you we'd get him back," Raphael managed to say, throwing a hug of his own in for good measure.

"You are spent, my sons, spent, but I must ask you still for more - " It ached, to have to tell them that. "We are not out of the fire yet, I fear."

"We'll get there." Raphael promised him. _"We'll get there."_ And he ruffled the fur too.

It was another, but much more pleasant kind of ache. _Nothing_ stopped Raphael...

"Quickly, then, we must go - this is the way. Casey, Michelangelo - there are Foot down here. We must be extremely careful - they are armed."

April turned, shot him a look full of worry and dashed hopes.

Casey's face fell too. "How do - how do you know that?"

"I have been very busy," Splinter retorted sharply. "I returned to April's van after we parted company. The Foot were stealing it -"

"What?!" April stiffened in startlement. He knew that she hadn't finished paying for the vehicle yet.

"The tale is long - I have retrieved it, and I doubt they know where it is now. We must get there before they have time to discover the loss. Shredder's forces are disorganized, but that will not take them too long to sort out."

April had come to put Leonardo on his feet again. Raphael levered himself up with one arm against the sewer wall. Splinter put his shoulder under Raphael's elbow, gave him support on the right side...he was going to need ice on that leg, once they got back to the den.

"How far?" Raphael asked. "Where'd you leave the van?"

"Only a few blocks, but we must expect opposition - I am not sure how many men Shredder has posted down here, but there are sentries - I saw one, pacing the sewers, but did not have time to deal with him." Splinter went to Donatello, borrowing his bo and handing it to Raphael to use as a short-term crutch.

"Suppose they posted 'em all around the zoo?" Donatello asked. "Ringed us in?"

"It is possible. April's van is inside that ring, if that is the case. We might escape without encountering any of them, if they do not try to converge on us here."

"Radios?"

"It appeared so. They will also be warned of our coming."

"We'll take care of 'em," Casey brandished the sai he still had and did it absolutely incorrectly. "Can't be that many of them down here, we'll just - "

"We will just be shot dead if you do not learn something of silence, Casey Jones!" Splinter cut off Casey's overconfident rambling and was glad that Michelangelo, and in a pinch, Donatello were also in able-bodied condition. He had heard from the Turtles about Casey's style and skill, but wasn't sure he actually wanted to see him in action under the circumstances. "Michelangelo, you must run scout for us...we must go to the east perimeter from here. We will follow, as quietly as we can." He put emphasis on the 'quietly' and sent a meaningful glance at Casey Jones as he did so.

Casey had opened his mouth, but he shut it again, shrugged agreeably and went to help April with Leonardo. Michelangelo nodded and started off in the correct direction, moving with silent, ninja skill ahead of their own appallingly noisy group. There was no helping it - there were too many injured and unskilled members in the gathering and the inch of stagnant water in the gutter splashed and set up echoes all around them. Doubtless, it was not as loud as it seemed to his keenly tuned rat's hearing, but he wished it was less audible all the same. They were moving as quickly as they could besides, and had only two blocks to go when Michelangelo re-appeared at the bend in the tunnel and signalled them to immobility.

 _Enemy. One_. He signed. _Wait._

Donatello translated, Casey eased Leonardo's weight onto April's shoulder and crept forward along the sewer. Splinter went with him, leaving the rest to melt as they could into the shadows. The Turtles knew how, would hide April and the girl.

It turned out not to be necessary. There was but one Foot, and, arms notwithstanding, he was no match for even a single Turtle. Michelangelo dealt with that adversary with his own typical good-humoured aplomb and shrugged it off - rank and file Foot ninja had never been much of a challenge for the Turtles.

April's van was exactly where he'd left it. There were still sirens screaming from the direction of the zoo.

"Missing out on another good story!" April muttered. She still seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, Splinter thought, and her brow was creased with worry as she took an official head count, once they had completed the feat of getting everyone out of the nearest manhole and into the back of the van. "Everyone still alive?"

Splinter listened to the wearied chorus that she received in reply. He took a closer look at Megan once they were settled, and appropriated Michelangelo's mask to bind the cuts on the girl's forearm. The girl was going to need medical attention. He began to understand April's mood...April knew too that they were not nearly finished for tonight.

He wrapped Donatello's leg as well, leaving the girl where she was in that Turtle's arms and spared Donatello the necessity of seeing to that minor wound himself.

Silence finally settled over the exhausted group. Splinter let his gaze wander the faces there as he leaned back to recoup what he could of his own strength. He would ache tomorrow. All of them were going to ache, and many of them for much longer than he would. He was worried about Megan McLaine...maybe Raphael had been right, and they should not have allowed her to come along tonight. Things might have gone differently then, some whole other sequence of events, perhaps not so favourably resolved. She would have called that playing What If. He shook his head of the pointless ruminations and took stock of their actual situation instead.

April and Casey were winded but uninjured. Of the humans, it was the girl that had borne the brunt of tonight's events. They would do everything possible for Megan, everything.

Michelangelo was also unharmed and in good spirits. Quite chipper, all things considered. He was watching Leonardo and Raphael with a kind of detached euphoria, full of relief for Leonardo and awed worship for Raphael. Raphael had told them that they'd get Leonardo back. Donatello had only that one wound to tend and it didn't seem to be bothering him a great deal. Donatello still had reserves to tap...of the Turtles, he was the strong and silent one, possessing a level of endurance and stamina that sometimes surprised even his brothers.

Leonardo was slumped again, with his head resting on his knees, eyes closed. He had survived the whole ordeal, must have been largely healed of the worst wounds, or he would not have been able to draw his knees up like that. It was mostly exhaustion. He hoped. Leonardo was going to require rest and care yet. They would get him home and fed. Leonardo would get the attentions he needed, maybe more than he could tolerate. It was going to be another job, to keep his brothers from overtaxing him. Raphael would likely adopt that task. Or would try to.

Raphael was also hurt. Splinter didn't like the look of the swelling there around his upper thigh - it was too close to the shell and he feared that meant damage that could not be reached. He wanted to consult with Megan on it, providing she would be capable of giving such advice. She had seen the inside of a Turtle once, and recently. It wasn't a claim he could make himself. Splinter blinked. Those puncture wounds would need tending too. They didn't look serious, but they had to be deep, or they would not have been bleeding. Shell wounds had always bothered him. If any one of those became infected and festered it would be very difficult to treat for the simple reason that one just couldn't get at a problem under a shell. The Turtles were tough, yes, very tough, but not indestructible.

Raphael was looking troubled, with his eye ridges drawn down and tension across his snout. The Turtles always looked very expressive without their masks, and none more so than Raphael.

"Raphael?" Splinter said quietly, the question in his tone. "You do not look happy, Raphael."

But Raphael only shrugged and sighed with regret. "Nothin', Master Splinter. I just...I lost a sai. That's all."

 _That's all?_ Splinter could not help but repeat to himself. Nothing? For Raphael, that was much. It was a very different reaction to the one he'd expressed the last time he had lost a sai.

 _Raphael has grown_ , he thought then. _They have all grown so very much..._

Splinter leaned across the crowded space of the van's interior then and hugged his Turtles, every one of them. He got hugs and ruffling of the fur in return. It was all done quietly, with a fatigued sort of understanding, more of that new found maturity. But that was all right - it was all family here -

"Kids," he murmured.

~o~

The stimulant had worn off.

Leonardo wasn't feeling very well at all by the time they finally reached home, and his recollections of the last part of the drive in the back of April's van were fuzzy ones. It might have been better if he hadn't stopped moving - the break gave his body the notion that it was time to sleep again.

He was sick of sleeping.

He ached, everywhere. And now that they weren't fighting for their lives, the hunger had come back to gnaw at him again. Then they hit him with the news that the only way into the den was by crawling.

"Crawling?" Leo repeated weakly. "Why, crawling?"

"Seriously long story," Donatello said. "Later. Not gonna be real quick and easy though." Don's glance went down to the girl he was still cradling carefully in his arms. She had moaned a few times, but had not yet come to. Splinter had bound her arm with Michelangelo's mask, and wrapped Don's leg with Don's own. They were an odd-looking bunch, Leo thought, all of them there bare-faced at the same time.

He was, however, the only one stark-naked. It hadn't really occurred to him until that moment, and shouldn't have bothered him, but it did. It wasn't a rational thing. He had lost touch lately with rational thinking.

He found it embarrassing. Not that the leather belts and padded bands covered much - it was just the principle of the whole thing. There were _women_ here...

The crawl was a misery he barely survived. Only the thought of home at the far end of the tunnel had kept him moving, and when he'd finally fallen into the newly enlarged alcove at one end of their kitchen, he gave himself over entirely to the concerned hands that rushed to pick him up.

He collapsed into one of the chairs there. "I'm starving," he complained. "Please tell me there's something to eat here - " Leo rolled his eyes toward the cupboards hungrily.

"We're gettin' pizza, with anything you want on it Leo, anything!" It was an extremely magnanimous offer, coming from Michelangelo, who normally cajoled the rest of them into his own favorite toppings. It made Leo's mouth water, thinking about it.

"No!" A strange voice objected sharply. "No. No pizza, not for you!" It was the girl, Megan, and she had regained consciousness. "Nothing solid like that - you had major surgery, you probably can't handle it. Did _they_ feed you?"

She looked wretched, pale and bruised and she was breathing with a lot of difficulty...he'd hardly recognized her by the hoarse rasping.

"No. That's why I'm starving. No food, no drinks, _nothin'!"_ That was a devastating blow, no pizza. "What - what _can_ I have?" He didn't have the strength to argue.

"Right now, some water...I'll give a list to April, but - owww!" She had tried to stand up, and sat back down abruptly, clutching at her ribs. She cursed quietly, with her eyes closed.

"Water?"

"A few crackers, maybe...Splinter - _tell_ him-"

"Leonardo, she is right...you have been fasting for two weeks - "

"Weeks! _Two_ weeks!" He had lost all track of time. "No wonder I'm starving..."

" - and you must not burden your system that heavily yet."

"Sugar in water." Megan announced weakly. "For now. Till we get some supplies."

Splinter had agreed with her, and fixed it for him. A few miserable cups of tepid water with some sugar stirred in. But it took the edge off the hunger, and did more for the thirst. He tried to be patient. He wasn't the only suffering party in the den -

Donatello had set himself about seeing to Raphael. He packed ice around the swollen leg and cleaned out the puncture wounds across Raph's plastron. Only two of them were still bleeding, those being the deepest. Megan told Don what to do, kept sending Michelangelo off for supplies. They seemed to be well equipped, and Leo wondered where all the stuff had come from. He'd never seen most of it, could tell that it wasn't over-the-counter commodities -

Casey had been pacing the den. He hated it down here and could only tolerate it for a short time. The girl scribbled a list, sent April and Casey out to fill whatever the requirements were. Leo had misgivings - Casey had questioned the list before April had snatched it from him and dragged him back into the crawlway. April wanted to try to find out what was going on at the zoo, was going to call the station and get whatever information they had. She promised she'd be back, would see that he was settled in, and gave him a hug and a kiss that cheered him considerably, almost as much as just being -

\- as just being _home._

It was like a soothing balm on his frayed and substance-abused nerves. There had been too much time recently that he thought he'd never see home ever again. Leo let himself slump down carefully, laid his head on the kitchen table to watch as Splinter tended Megan's wounds, starting with the broken ribs, which he wrapped and bound carefully with padding and tensor bandages. The arm was a horrid sight, with those two deep slices that had gone clear to the bone. She had gone ashen and moaned, on Splinter's initial examination, once the mask had come off.

"Stitches," she'd muttered. "Lots of 'em."

"This is beyond my skill," Splinter had protested. "April will be back, you must be taken to a - "

"Mike's leg wasn't beyond your skill - "

"You were the one that performed - "

"I'll supervise!"

"Megan - "

She had argued with him, about Questions and Identification and the Danger Up There. She did not want to go. They had everything they needed here. "Someone will recognize me. I've been on the news, remember?"

 _I don't,_ Leo thought dimly, _don't remember anything of the sort._ He was half asleep where he was slouched. He'd never seen anyone argue with Master Splinter before. Really hadn't thought it was possible to argue with Splinter, let alone to win in the event that one ever did. Splinter acquiesced, did as she told him, eventually. It lent an air of surreal non-reality to the whole kitchen scene, and he began to question his whereabouts hazily.

Someone touched him, laid a hand on his head. Michelangelo.

"You okay, Leo?" he asked, with none of the kidding around that was so characteristic. "Leo?"

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just tired." He made the effort to sit upright, leaned back in the chair instead, to run a weary hand over the scarred plates on his belly. It was the first really good look he'd gotten of them, and it was very discouraging.

"It'll fade," Mike reassured him. "She said so."

He accepted some more of the sweetened water. "What the hell's been goin' on Mikie? Who - who _is_ she?"

Mike took a deep breath, and went back, almost to the beginning.

It wasn't a happy story. Leo had listened with a growing dismay, had frozen in horror when he'd heard about Doctor Marshall, and it had gotten worse when Mike arrived at the point of the newscasts.

The tale left Leonardo blinking, numb and overwhelmed. "For me?" he murmured. "All that, just for - for _me_?" Something stopped working, he couldn't think, couldn't take it all in. He laid his head back down on the table. _"You're all nuts..."_

It must all have been another hallucination. The dizziness was back. Reality had resumed its rotational motion. He would wake up soon, would wake up and it would only be Shredder and -

Something hit him on the shoulder, something that turned out to be a crumpled up piece of paper, just to get his attention.

"Now that's gratitude!" Raphael chided him. "I'd teach you some manners if I thought I could get up right now - " But the threat was empty - there was nothing but affection in the tone.

Leo's chest went all tight. He couldn't breathe properly anymore.

"Right, totally nuts, just like you, dude!" Michelangelo added, throwing his arms around him. Mike was shaking, his voice had cracked. _"Leo-"_

"Bunch of stark, raving lunatics - " Donatello got up, came to add to the embrace. "Move over, Mikie."

Leonardo let them pick him up, all light-headed and spinning, identified the sound of Raph's ice pack as it hit the floor and got one of his arms extended out that direction before his vision went all blurry. He had to touch them, all of them, _had_ to find out if they were all real and not some wishful imagining that his overstressed brain had conjured up...

He hurt, grabbed at Raph's hand and tried to squeeze his fingers tight there, but didn't seem to have any strength. It felt like a Turtle's fingers, felt like a bunch of Turtle's shells crowding him -

It still hurt, hurt in the most awful, most wonderful way.

"All nuts..." he managed to breathe, and something broke -

He thought maybe it was his heart.

And then he fainted dead away.

~o~


	11. True Forces - Chapter 9

**True Forces Chapter Nine**

Raphael had slowed down. The ice pack had done it to him and he had known it. He'd fought the cold-induced torpor, had not wanted to give into it because then they would have just packed him off to bed and he would have missed something-

So he'd wound up arguing with Leo instead.

Raph had never torn a ligament before. It was painful. He should not have tried to stand up and cross the floor, truly should have stayed put where he'd been at the time but he just couldn't sit still, _couldn't_ just _sit_ there when Mike and Don had rushed Leo. He had to be there, had to be a part of the tangle that had left Leonardo hanging unconscious in their arms, Megan screeching at them until she damn near fainted herself, and Splinter yelling to calm everyone back down.

The faint had only lasted a minute, and Leo had been babbling again by the time Mike and Don had gotten him back into the kitchen chair. Raph had collapsed into a heap on the floor, trying to find a comfortable angle to keep the leg as he listened to Leo with a lump in his throat.

 _Damn! We really, got him back, we really all got out of that one more or less in one piece..._

"Stood up too fast," Leo had said. "Where the hell are my crackers? I'm _starving_ guys! I-"

Megan conceded. "All right. All right, a few crackers. Soda biscuits and not those other spicy things you've got in the cupboard. And for God's sake don't upset him anymore!" She'd closed her eyes then, as if the tirade had exhausted her, and had kept on muttering while Splinter mended the arm. Their Master had been hard pressed to hold her down and keep the arm still, hadn't been finished stitching up the first of the cuts and he'd been trying so hard to be careful.

 _We'll hear about this one,_ he'd thought. _Splinter'll shell us himself if we've gone and over stressed Leo-_

Mike had picked him up and put him back with his ice pack, and he'd stayed there, getting drowsy and cold and torpor-stupid until April had finally come back with a brown paper bag and then sent Mike up topside for the rest of whatever Meg had put on that shopping list. Leo's eyes had lit up when the bag came down on the kitchen table and he reached into it eagerly.

"Real food!" Leonardo murmured. "Real-" his features fell dramatically, _"Baby food!?"_

"Baby food. Won't burden your GI tract." Megan responded wearily. "You'll like apricot best, I imagine."

"Got fruits and vegetables too." April told him cheerfully. "Mike's bringing applesauce, big jars of it, Leo. You won't be so hungry anymore."

 _"Baby_ food!?" Leo repeated, as if he hadn't heard any of it from either of them. "I don't-"

"Leo!" Raph had heard his own voice distantly. His leg had gone all numb from the cold, and he hadn't felt it that time when he lurched to his feet and started across the kitchen floor. He'd been angry by then. He hadn't wanted to hear any complaints, not even from Leonardo, because they had all just about gotten themselves killed that night. Meg _had_ gotten herself killed that night, and Leo had balked at something she had told him to do for his own good...

He had decided that Leo didn't have the right.

"Leo," he said again. "Shut up and eat the damn baby food."

For an instant it had almost looked like Leo was going to shout back. But he'd blinked, too tired to fight it, or realizing that he was on the wrong side of the argument. Leo's hand had come up and found his shoulder to pull him down into the chair beside him at the table. Leo had fished another jar out of the bag and placed it very deliberately in front of him.

Raphael had looked down at it.

"How'd somebody like to get us a couple of spoons, huh?"

That had been three days ago.

The cold had finally gotten through to him and he had been packed off to bed, just like Leo and Megan had been. He had slept for a long time, one of those deep, dreamless hibernation sleeps that he now suspected had been Splinter's intention with the ice packs.

He came around slowly, drifting up out of the torpor with fuzzy recollections about his brothers coming and going and telling him that everything was okay and not to worry, just to take care of his leg and to relax. Everything was fine, they said.

But they said it too many times and he'd eventually eased himself upright and gone to check things out personally.

He had expected that things would have changed. Things like the general atmosphere, which had been pretty bleak before they had recovered Leonardo. The atmosphere _had_ changed, but it wasn't for the better. Something was _wrong_...he'd felt it the moment he'd gingerly stepped into the hallway. And so he went to check on Megan, because he'd seen all of his brothers and Splinter too...simple elimination told him where the problem had to be. Raphael found another change-

One that scared him.

They'd told him that she was okay, that she was getting better. He'd heard her talking and coughing in the distance through the broken pipes that ran the length and breadth of the den. It had seemed to him that there'd been more coughing than talk.

He would not have thought that three days could do _that_ to anyone...

He hardly recognized her.

Megan looked dreadful-half dead, and that was what scared him. She had been pale and bruised when they'd brought her in the other day - now she was pale and bruised and hollow-looking, shadowed about the eyes and fevered. Her eyes did not look right - they were glassy and unfocused and staring at the stack of water-damaged magazines on the bookcase beside Don's bed. There was sweat on her skin. She shivered when she didn't cough. Her breathing was laboured, her chest rattled. She was propped up in the bed with a whole variety of their pillows to make the breathing a little less difficult.

Leonardo was sitting with her when he came limping into Don's sanctuary. Raph had taken one look at her, traded a very worried glance with his brother and then gone right back to staring, looking hard for details, for tell-tale signs that would help him to assess her condition a little more precisely. Megan's eyes closed. She didn't seem to notice that he was even there and she either fell asleep or passed out...he couldn't decide which.

She looked exhausted. He had just opened his mouth to beg some answers from Leo when she opened her eyes again, as if suddenly aware of his alarmed stare, and turned the glazed look his direction.

"Raph..."

He straightened and tried to swallow his apprehensions. "Hey, Meg. How're you feelin', huh?"

"Million bucks. Just got a cold, that's all." Megan managed a tiny smile to go along with the hoarse reply. "Just a cold."

He paced over to the bed and eased himself down onto the edge of the mattress. She blinked at him, squinted and then raised a hand to touch at the scabbed and scarring-over puncture wounds.

"Oh, Raph - when did this happen? Is this my fault?"

She didn't seem to recall having told Donatello how to go about patching the holes up...his sense of alarm deepened.

"Your teeth aren't that sharp," he told her lightly, but exchanged another concerned glance with Leo. "How could it be your fault?" He caught her hand in mid-reach. It didn't look like she had enough strength to get it as far as his shell...she did have a fever, her skin was _hot._

Her eyes had closed. "Stupid...gettin' caught like that. I'm really...I'm sorry Raph, I-"

"Stop that!" Raph squeezed her hand, wished the fever down, wished the strength back into her, wished...wished everything all right again. "Stop that, Meg! There's nothin' to be sorry about. Pulled it off didn't we?"

She blinked again, had to think about it, realized that it was a statement she'd heard somewhere...

 _She doesn't remember...she doesn't remember asking me how I was gonna pull it all off..._

Raph's insides went fluttery. Megan remembered _everything-_

"Raph - " Megan rasped again, after a long moment thinking. "You saved me." Her eyes went all watery. "You - "

 _"I didn't do nothin'!"_ The fluttering went to knots. "I was gettin' killed too! Leo and Splinter pulled both our butts outta that one. It wasn't me! It was Leo and Splinter and April and Casey and Don and Mike - I just got us both chewed up good!"

"Bad grammar. Double negative." She shut her eyes and the wet leaked down her cheeks. "No. You saved me." She lapsed into silence, overwhelmingly tired, not listening anyway. Her mind was made up.

He gave up. Megan was delirious, he decided. Megan was delirious and incoherent. Exhaustion overtook her and she drifted back into sleep as Raph put her hand back down to tuck it under the blanket that she'd tossed off listlessly when he'd first arrived. Chills and fever. And that miserable cough and wheeze -

 _Just a cold-_

Raphael _didn't_ think so. He didn't think so at all.

"Leo? Leo, she gonna be okay?" Raph whispered his concern urgently as he got up and backed away from the bent brass bed.

"Hope so. Sure hope so, Raph, but - "

"We do hope so, yes." Splinter said from just behind him.

Raphael turned. Splinter was there, had a small cardboard box under his arm and a mug of steaming broth in his other hand.

"Leonardo, you must go and rest now. You must not overstress yourself." Splinter spoke firmly. Raph hadn't noticed until then just how tired Leo had looked...

"Just been sitting here..." Leo objected. "I've just - "

"Sitting too long now - Leonardo, you still require rest. Raphael, how is your leg?"

He shrugged. "S'okay. Bit sore yet, but it'll be okay."

"Out then, both of you. I will sit with Megan for awhile. Leonardo, go to bed. No arguments."

Leo heaved a sigh and got carefully to his feet, still sore. "Yes, Master Splinter," he said, and nudged Raphael out of the way as he brushed past him. "Com'on. Splinter's got her."

It was said quietly, but as if there was nothing else to be done, too. It was resignation to circumstance.

Raph didn't like it.

When he finally backed out of the room, it was with a diffuse kind of panic, a deep unease. Megan wasn't well. Megan wasn't at all well - she was sicker than he'd ever seen any human, and Splinter had looked worried. Splinter had looked as if he wasn't sure what to do next. He had never seen that either.

Splinter had always been able to make everything all right.

He followed Leo down the hallway toward their living room. There was tension in the air, tension everywhere in the den. Mike was sitting alone in a corner of the kitchen, keeping quietly to himself. He nodded absently at Raph, asked him how he was. _Okay_ , he'd said, and refused the jar of applesauce Leo had gestured at him.

The ache was easing out of the leg as he moved around more and he continued on through the kitchen, found Donatello hunched over the computer where they'd set it up the other night. Don had all the manuals open and spread around the immediate vicinity, most within arm's reach.

For a second, Raphael just stared at it all, while the knots in his gut went tight. "What are you doing?!" he snapped all at once. "What the hell are you playing with that thing for?!" His fears congealed suddenly. Megan was _dying_ back there-

"I'm not playing, Raph," Donatello informed him without turning. Don plugged something in, hit a couple of keys on the console. "There. Think that oughta do it." There were cords and wires and computer peripherals everywhere. The thing bleeped and warbled. The screen flickered.

"Well what exactly do you call it then?"

"Research."

 _"Research?!"_ Raph's fists were suddenly clenched. "She's dyin' back there Donnie and you're playin' with - "

 _"I'm not playing!"_ Don shot up out of the chair and turned to shove him down onto the couch, a reaction so startling out of Donatello that he lost the anger for a moment. Donatello didn't normally react like that. "She's _not_ gonna die Raph! We're not gonna let her!"

Raph loosened and then re-clenched the fist around one of their big throw pillows and pulled it onto his lap to pound it ineffectively. Acute frustration crowded with a sudden flush of shame...of course his brothers and Splinter were not going to let Megan _die..._

"Sorry..." he mumbled, and Donatello backed off, went to the computer again and ignored him. "What kind - of research are you doing?" It was as close as he usually came to an apology. He had never been much good at apologies.

Donatello knew it, and accepted that one for whatever it was worth. "We think she's got pneumonia Raph. She says so, and that we've got everything here we need to deal with it."

"And we're listening to her?!" Raph didn't like that. "She's delirious Donnie! She doesn't know anyth-"

"We're checkin' it out."

"Her mom was a vet! Not an MD! All that stuff she gave us wasn't for - for people!"

"Antibiotics - " Don quipped, in a tone that sounded like he was mimicking something he'd already heard from Megan, "- are antibiotics."

"Oh. Great. We'll just give her horse pills."

"We didn't get any horse pills."

 _"We're not doctors!"_ Raphael wanted to toss the pillow in frustration. "What are we doin' then? Playing General Hospital?!"

"No, Raphael, we are not!" Splinter's voice interrupted whatever response Donatello had just turned in his chair to deliver. "We are not _playing_ at anything. We are doing everything possible to help Megan."

Raph closed his own eyes. "We're not doctors," he repeated, more calmly, because he wanted them to take him seriously for a change. When he opened them again, it was to see that Mike and Leo had trailed Splinter into the room.

"She says we do not need to be."

Don cleared his throat. "Meg gave us all her I.D. codes, gave us everything we need to access the database at the University. She told us what we need to find out. She says we've got everything here that we need. We're gonna _verify_ it."

"We're listening to her? She's delirious." He had just said that a minute ago.

"We're gonna verify it. In case she's wrong." Exasperated, Donatello repeated himself too. "We did think of it, Raph."

Splinter let out a patient sigh. "Michelangelo, please go and sit with Megan...I do not want her to be left alone." Mike nodded and went, with, Raph realized, abnormal quiet.

There was something that they _hadn't_ told him yet, he just knew it all of a sudden. He could _tell_.

"Leonardo, I told you to go to bed. I do not want an argument. Close your mouth and go." There was no discussion there either. Leo turned and retreated toward the kitchen reluctantly, doing as Splinter told him..

Then Splinter turned his attention back to Raphael and Donatello. "Raphael, Megan was not delirious when she spoke with us, although she is becoming more so now than she has been. She is very ill, but she is still thinking clearly. She saw this coming yesterday and told us what we would have to do to deal with it. We are going to try what she has suggested. It is her wish Raphael. She does not want to endanger us any further and is very afraid of whatever consequences might arise should she become hospitalized."

"Her dropping dead isn't gonna help us a whole lot."

"We are not going to let her drop dead, Raphael!" Splinter snapped at him, short of temper and tired of repeating himself. "If she does not improve we will find her medical help, whatever the cost."

"We've already talked about it, Raph," Donatello added, in as grim a tone as he'd ever heard from him. "We'll go public if we have to. We won't just dump her on the hospital steps."

"The Foot were able to break Shredder out of hospital security," Splinter went on. "She would not be safe anywhere once the media learned of her appearance. The publicity would be intense, after what has happened at the zoo."

Don nodded. "But we can - "

"But we can reveal the entire truth ourselves, if need be." Splinter was very, very serious. "We can make the decision to go to the authorities ourselves - "

"And create a furor that even Shredder won't be able to hide from. Put Allan Marshall away where he belongs and - "

"I doubt it would come to that, Donatello. That would - "

"That would get the twins killed!" Raphael objected. "Shredder wouldn't let something like that keep him from cutting the throat of every Marshall he could lay hands on, including what's-his-name!"

Don's shoulders slumped. "That is a problem."

"She has thought of it already. It is another reason she does not want us to seek outside assistance in this. The Marshall twins are as much victims in this as her mother and her stepfather have been. But I do not think that going 'public' would actually mean that sort of exposure." Splinter's nose twitched and his ears went down. "I rather doubt that the media would receive word of our existence at all."

There was a long silence.

"We'll get classified, you mean." Donatello said. "Government stuff. Top Secret."

Raph could complete that line of reasoning himself. "They'll let the media expound aliens till they're tired of it, and never say a word." He'd read those sorts of novels. "You're talking about going into a glass bowl for keeps."

Raph went cold with all the implications. Splinter, it seemed, had taken the time to think it through. All of them had, to some degree...it explained Mike's silent apprehensions, and Leo's resignation to circumstance. He'd had a notion that he'd walk into the nearest hospital with Megan himself and damn the consequences, had thought he'd give himself up as the only 'alien' and mislead the whole city-

But there were far too many holes in that non-plan.

Allan Marshall could contradict any story he told, and would, to protect the twins. He would only wind up in the glass bowl all by himself, end up drugged to the gills and talking. Leo had been stupid and talkative under sedation...he would likely be no different, and couldn't pretend even to himself that he would be. Publicity wouldn't help either. He'd only get Megan killed by some Foot assassin once her name leaked out - Shredder would see to it that her side of the story never came to light - she'd be dead before the ink on the headlines was even dry.

And April would go down too. Shredder would ditch his nice-guy approach to April O'Neil - Shredder would silence _all_ of his opposition.

"We owe her, Raph." Leonardo hadn't gone very far, had drifted back out of the kitchen despite the warning glare that Splinter turned on him. "We owe her. She's not gonna die. Absolutely not." None of them owed more than Leonardo.

Splinter took a deep breath and let it go slowly without sending Leo away that time. "We owe both Megan and her mother. We will see the girl safe. _Whatever_ the cost. You will have to think about it Raphael. We must all be in complete agreement. And if Megan does not get better, we will decide what we must do, but we are going to try it her way first. She does not want us to sacrifice ourselves just for her sake. The very idea disturbs her greatly."

"And what about April?"

"It is not April's decision to make. But we will discuss it with her as well, if it comes to that."

Donatello turned and hit another key on the computer console. He made it bleep and warble again. "It won't," he promised.

"We shall all hope not..." Splinter said.

And Raph began to do some very earnest praying himself.

~o~

She was lying, very quietly, afraid to open her eyes.

Megan McLaine had drifted up out of sleep to find herself only uncomfortable, and in less pain than she seemed to rather hazily remember. She was having trouble sorting through the images in her head. There had been danger and fighting, and there had been Shredder too - a very vivid recollection that - and then there had been capture and crocodiles. Quite a lot of nightmarish material. She had drowned. Or she thought that she had. Or almost drowned, or she wouldn't be lying there thinking about it. It was all very nebulous after that.

She took a tentative deep breath. Her chest was still all congested. She wheezed as her ribcage expanded until it reached the limits of the wrappings. The ache was still there. She did not try to hold the air - a cough threatened and she eased her chest back. There had been fluid in her lungs...she'd come down with pneumonia...hadn't she? It had been Splinter that had done the bandages. She flexed her arm experimentally. He had done the IV too. It was still in place. The other arm ached too. Stitches in that one.

So, she _hadn't_ imagined all of that. Which meant, in turn, that she hadn't imagined herself dispensing medical advice and computer science, and that it hadn't all been rambling nonsense either.

Megan was afraid that she'd said some very ridiculous things in the course of those ramblings.

She took a moment to recall where she was, worked out her probable disposition in three dimensions and figured that she would be staring at a ramshackle bookcase if she opened her eyes. If she turned her head first, she would be looking at a chair opposite the bookcase on the other side of the bed, one that was likely occupied by either a mutant Rat or one of several mutant Turtles. All of the suspected ramblings had been addressed that direction, and she had a nagging hunch that she'd been calling all of the Turtles by Raphael's name. She would be embarrassed to ask and find out that the hunch was well-founded. The Turtles were usually so easy to tell apart...

Megan drew another half-deep breath, let it out in a long sigh and then turned her head and let the chair come into focus.

It was Leonardo. He was wearing his mask again and looked momentarily odd because she recalled him better without it. Leo was dozing in the chair. He didn't look quite so thin anymore - didn't look so dehydrated now. Probably he was eating better. She wondered if Splinter had permitted anything other than the applesauce yet.

Applesauce sounded awfully good, right at the moment.

She couldn't remember what her own last meal had been, or when it had taken place. She'd have been pretty dehydrated herself if it hadn't been for the IV. That, however, came with its own set of drawbacks, and one of those drawbacks was nature calling her urgently...

It occurred to her to wonder how they had been coping with _those_ problems, and decided that it was something else she would be better off not knowing. Carefully, Meg got one elbow back, and very cautiously levered herself upright. She bit down on the resultant groan, but it escaped her anyway and startled Leo to abrupt wakefulness.

For a second or two, they just stared at one another, one convalescent to the next. "Hi." Meg managed to say. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

"Uhhh-well, no, I guess not. Are you okay, Meg?"

She thought about it. "Will be. If I get to a bathroom soon."

It took a bit of arranging. She ended up disconnecting the IV, found that just being upright and mobile helped to keep the dizziness down. She found further motivation to maintain the upright mobility once the trip had been accomplished, and she'd had one good look at the reflection in the mirror over the sink.

She refused to come out of the bathroom then, not until she'd also managed a shower and they had filled her demands for something decent to wear. The changes of clothing that she'd brought from home paid off. The time she spent worked miracles for her dignity, but she was dizzy and weak again by the time she decided she was fit to put in a public appearance. She needed the help that she got to make it as far as the kitchen. She didn't let Splinter at the bandages on her arm until she'd polished off a jar of applesauce, and chased that down with a steaming bowl of soup that Donatello went through an amazing performance to fix...the microwave oven in question did some very spectacular and probably hazardous things in the process.

She had been sick for the last six days, they told her when she asked. Had been on the IV and antibiotics for the last four. The fever had finally broken, just over the last twenty-four hours, the congestion had cleared somewhat and she'd slept soundly since.

"Guess I'm gonna live then," she'd commented while Splinter had changed the dressing on her arm again...another couple of days and those stitches could be pulled too. "What else has been happening? We blew up something at the zoo, didn't we?" It was another hazy recollection, that one of them had said they'd blown something up -

"Only blew up one of The Foot's trucks." Michelangelo explained.

"But we did do some other property damage along the way." Donatello added. "The police aren't real happy."

"The crocodiles are all gonna live too." Leo said. "Even the one that Raph bit."

She hadn't remembered that either. Megan's glance went to Raphael. Raphael shrugged. "They say," he said. "That I have a very unusual bite signature."

"Confused the hell out of 'em. The police don't know what happened. The police are looking for ninjas and the media are still crying aliens. Just wait until you see the headlines!" Michelangelo almost sounded excited.

"They've got my dagger." Raph complained sourly. "And my other mask."

"They sent the mask for forensics. They're trying to culture skin cells from it. Picked up a few blood samples too." Donatello went on, just a bit guiltily, because it had mostly been his. "The police are trying to downplay it, but they know it's not human, and they even say it's different from Mikie's."

"There are still searches of the storm drains being conducted," Splinter finally chimed in. "The evidence has convinced them that there are at least two, and perhaps more of the 'aliens' in the vicinity. You are still being sought as well, Megan. Your shoes and shirt were found, and while there is no proof that they belonged to you, they suspect it. The condition of the shirt has not left the authorities optimistic that they will find you alive. I believe they expect you to turn up as a corpse somewhere."

"I'll have to disappoint them." Megan shrugged, glad only that she wasn't about to make that one come true for anyone.

"But they're still not gonna find us." Mike announced confidently. "We know how to be invisible!"

That was when the phone rang.

They still had it hooked up to the modem, and it didn't ring a second time. The computer bleeped, answering it.

"Not again..." Donatello murmured.

Again. Megan's heart thumped suddenly. _Again!_

She stood abruptly, went dizzy with the motion. "Unplug it!" she yelled, panicky all at once. She'd given them her ID codes. They had used them. _Those_ sorts of phone calls were logged, for future billing. It had taken a few days, maybe because the authorities had thought her dead, but _someone_ had checked. "They're trying to trace my ID!"

Donatello was the first to realize what she was saying. He just about tore the cord from the phone. "I didn't think of it - " he moaned. "I never even thought of it!"

"Neither did I. Just now. How many times?" Megan sat back down, sank back into the dilapidated easy chair that she'd claimed when finally Splinter had been finished with the arm.

The Turtles all exchanged glances. "Four or five," Leo suggested. They hadn't thought it meant anything. "Never rings more than once-"

There was a long silence. "How serious is this?" Splinter asked into the quiet. "What does that mean?"

Megan cursed quietly. She had just frightened them all, but she had been frightened herself. She shook her head. "I'm not sure. There are charges for the networking...they bill through the phone system. How is...how is your phone hooked into it?" It had maybe been too quick a panic...she was sure that the Turtles never received phone bills. But that still didn't mean that their line couldn't be traced to the source.

"Not really illegally..." Donatello said. "We try not to use it too much. It's just an old public phone that we keep throwing quarters into."

She knew that...she'd been using it every day to call her mother, using the same quarter over and over because the coin had always dropped through for re-use, another bit of Donatello's tampering. "City must pay for whatever you charge up...not enough that they bother to come looking for your quarters. I don't know how they trace calls," she admitted. "Maybe they can't."

"Yeah? And maybe they can. I thought Ma Bell knew everything." Raph objected. "Maybe," he said suggestively. "Maybe we just oughta get outta town for a bit." He said it as if he really meant it.

The idea seemed to brighten them. The Turtles all exchanged another long glance, communicating something in common.

"Yeah..." Leo nodded his head thoughtfully, and Mike jumped up to find himself one of their old trench coats. He checked the pocket for change.

Megan watched in confusion. She had missed something. "Huh? Where are you going Mike?"

Michelangelo slapped the matching fedora onto his head. "Can't use this phone," he informed her in the same bright tone. "I've gotta go call our travel agent-"

~o~

Casey Jones had gone to camp a great many times as a boy. Packing was not a new experience.

Packing for mutant Turtles on short notice was.

They all seemed to think that they were going to a resort. Splinter especially was looking forward to visiting The Farm That Time Forgot. Casey still wasn't impressed by the memory. There were squirrels and bats in the attic. There were mice behind the walls and under the floorboards. There was no running water, no electricity, there were no amenities at all, unless one stooped to including the outhouse with dual seating capacity-

But this year, he had to admit, this year they were at least better prepared for it, and the back of the rental van was jammed to overflowing with carton upon carton of groceries and other supplies. There had been another trip to the pawn shop, and a couple of days of frenzied arrangements, shopping and packing. April had reorganized her work schedule, had been pleased enough to find out that their friends were going to get out of town and lay low for awhile. It still took some careful avoidance tactics; they were still concerned about Foot surveillance, but finally everything had been made ready. There were luxuries, by mutant standards, along with all the necessities, and Megan McLaine had had a say in what was included.

Casey may not have thought a lot of the farm, but it was going to be an improvement over the sewers, and he thought that it was going to do a world of good for the Turtles, the Rat and the girl. She looked like she needed some sun. It wasn't early fall this time. There was plenty of good weather to look forward to. They could all lie around, catch a few rays. And this time, there wasn't going to be the worry about what Shredder was going to be doing with one or another of them. There was no rush to get back to New York. Not for anyone except for April, and therefore, for Casey Jones too...

He had promised the Turtles and Splinter that he would look out for her, and she had promised to let him because they had threatened not to go if she didn't. She would be extra cautious herself besides...The Foot was no doubt plenty annoyed by the unscheduled fiasco that their trip to the zoo had become for them. It had been a glorious escape for their side, and points to chalk up, but they were all certain that reprisals just had to be in the works somewhere. Casey had argued with April, in spite of his own vow not to, had argued with her to quit her job for awhile, to go to ground, take a sabbatical or a leave-of-absence or whatever she could arrange...

She had refused flatly. April O'Neil was not going to run, even when the running might be well-warranted. The Foot, he was convinced, was not kidding around anymore. It would only be a matter of time. But he would be there with her. Casey Jones would make himself a very formidable obstacle...

On arrival, the Turtles wasted no time in staking out their territory-they claimed the upstairs bedrooms and heaped such belongings as they had deemed personal and necessary into shapeless piles for sorting at a later date. Cartons of provisions, dry and canned, were stacked against the kitchen wall. Nothing was put away...Megan had decreed that the ultimate stowage of goods would wait until she had had a better look around. Once that pronouncement had been made, the four Turtles scattered with Splinter and Megan, each trying to outdo the other as official tour guide.

By mid-afternoon, Splinter had set their boundaries, quite determined that the Turtles would do nothing to attract attention from adjacent neighbours, miles distant though they might be. He allowed them the woods, the meadow and the pond by daylight, and further allowed that they could wander the fallow acres to the northeast nocturnally if they so desired. There wasn't much that direction but some fields gone wild, and beyond those several acres of cornfield. They were very sternly warned that there would be no sympathy spared for trespassing Turtles shot by irate farmers or local rednecks. They were to be mindful of trespassers themselves. In short, they were to exercise their ninja skills, and not to forget them.

There had been ready agreement...it was still more above ground freedom than the Turtles had ever known and they hadn't forgotten the taste of it that they'd had last year. The proscribed areas included a number of features of interest, most notably the pond. The Turtles were fond of swimming but had a deep mistrust of the contaminated waters of New York City, a tangled thicket of mixed blackberry and raspberry bushes (as yet unripe) and one vast field of strawberries gone wild. The strawberries were in season, and the group gorged on fresh, ripe berries before they came back to the farmhouse carrying handfuls more for himself and April. They promised to collect a bucketful more before the return trip to the city. Michelangelo in particular was rating the discovery highly. The Turtles were accustomed to fruit rejected from warehouses and grocery stores - all of it strictly back-alley fare and they had never in their lives had berries right off the vine. Mike solemnly proclaimed them a divine foodstuff, rated almost on par with pizza - something that Casey drove the thirteen miles into town to pick up for them just after sunset. It was the last pizza they were going to see for a while, and Casey had come back with enough for a second gorging and for leftovers to have at breakfast the next morning.

The promised bucket of berries appeared before mid-morning, just as he and April were getting themselves ready to head back - April was due for work the next day - and April had paused to give all of them a hug and a kiss before they drove off. She had talked long with Megan, to what purpose or conclusions Casey would no doubt learn on the return drive. The Turtles were to hike into town and call if any emergencies arose, the thirteen miles being an easy night's lope for them, and she had left them with a calendar well marked with their own expected visiting schedule. They would be back on the next long weekend, and if the Turtles, Splinter or Megan needed anything, they would have to advise them prior to that.

Aside from that, they were on their own.

Casey had slapped each of the Turtles on the shoulder and given Megan a big hug of his own. "You make sure these guys take care of you now," he teased her in warning. "But watch out for that guy over there in the orange." Michelangelo had perked, hearing himself mentioned and had smiled his best lady-killing smile.

Megan had raised a scathing eyebrow in response. "Wouldn't worry about it Casey... _you're_ the one my mother warned me about."

"And that-" April had interrupted, "-is exactly why you're coming back with me-"

Casey couldn't decide if it was insult or compliment, but in either case, it was the most promising thing he'd heard out of her in months...

~o~

Her research had stopped dead, the very moment that April O'Neil had learned about Leonardo's capture by The Foot Clan. It had remained suspended, for weeks now, weeks full of crisis and worry and as she looked at the calendar on her desktop she realized suddenly that all of that was behind her.

Leonardo was back where he belonged, and only slightly worse for the wear. He was back with all his brothers and with Splinter, and the whole lot were packed up and off to the safest haven she knew with Megan McLaine in tow. They were all out of it, for now at least, and when she and Casey had driven away from the farm they had done so with light hearts. Their friends were safe, not only from their enemies, but from the cauldron of controversy they'd left behind...

The sewers were crawling with all manner of investigators now and they ranged in type from the Authorities and Professionals, through the Academics and the Media, and right on down to the ranks of the Amateur, both the Curiosity Seekers and the out and out Lunatics.

The mess at the zoo had attracted a great deal of attention.

She wasn't complaining. She wasn't even trying to involve herself in the story, although, professionally, it was an opportunity she might otherwise have drooled for. She was, in fact, trying to keep herself a very low profile...she had considered taking up a Voice of Reason approach, to try to downplay the incident and air some alternate but plausible scenarios (Emerald Smugglers Ship Contraband Via Crocodile?) that might distract from the hysteria.

April had changed her mind about that, however, when two days after the trashing of the quarantine building, Chief Sterns had called her out on the carpet and asked her what she knew about it.

The summons hadn't made her nervous until she'd heard the question, which had set her heart all aflutter and made her wonder how he'd arrived at the conclusion. She had feigned innocence. "I was booked off that night...wasn't even on call. Another reporter responded. I heard it all on the news, just like everyone else. I am following the story - wish it was mine."

"And so...just where were you then, O'Neil?" Sterns had pressed her, dissatisfied with the statement.

"With my boyfriend," she'd replied, not quite innocently, but truthfully enough. She left what she'd been doing with her boyfriend up to Sterns' own imagination and then made a few demands of her own. "Why? What makes you think I'd know?"

"O'Neil, this thing turned up there - " Sterns had reached into his desk drawer and pulled out Raph's sai. "We recovered this from the jaws of a crocodile. You _know_ what it is O'Neil, so don't play coy with me. _Ninja_ use these things...and you had lots to say about _ninja_ , not so very long ago. Your _ninja_ friends are involved here Miss O'Neil - " he'd come to his feet and had leaned across the desk to glare down at her where she'd been sitting, "- so what do you know about it?"

April had actually found herself admiring the Chief for the intuition and the recall - cops often came to the right conclusion on gut instinct alone and Ross Sterns had not gotten to be Head of the Department for nothing. She gave him another innocently evasive answer and talked her way out of his office, but not before he'd threatened her with police 'protection', for her own safety. She had argued that, but not too strenuously, for fear of arousing suspicion, and had left with the impression that she'd acquired a police tail for awhile. One that had made it difficult to get back and see the Turtles, and had kept her ignorant of Megan's pneumonia for too long.

The poor girl had suffered, had emotional and physical scars that needed some time away to heal...it was about the only reason she'd allowed the girl to go upstate with the Turtles. The kid needed time to get the shambles of her life sorted out. April liked her...she was tough and resilient. Megan had bounced, even from the worst of the blows that had come her way. She had talked long with the girl, had given her a few things to think about, one of which was going to the police to ask for protection from those deadly ninja...April had concocted another story after the inquiries from Sterns, had worked out a whole smuggler's scenario full of hostages and extortion, a story that might even get Meg's stepbrothers out of Foot clutches, and wouldn't reveal anything about their mutant friends. Meg could claim that ignorance and fear had sent her into hiding...

But the police would want to know _where_ , and _with whom_ and _why for so long_. There were a lot of gaps that couldn't be filled in adequately.

There had been some advantages in the scheme though-inheritance of her mother's estate for one thing. April had serious concerns for the girl's future - she had no resources to fall back on, was only eighteen...

Which didn't mean she was helpless, or that she couldn't get by, one way or another, but she'd had a career ahead of her, and schooling that she'd wanted. The Foot would know, through the Professor and the twins, all about that now...Megan's attitude was one of dejected acceptance of the fact that those avenues were mostly closed now. It had rankled April, that she'd give up on it so easily, but Casey had told her to give the kid a break and a little time to think about it.

Casey Jones had been wonderful throughout.

He had surprised her, had come through when they'd needed him, had saved Megan's life, had been calm and cool and collected and had, she thought, outperformed her every step of the way through that emergency. He had never once given the girl up for dead, but she had believed the girl long gone before they'd even gotten the task started. It had bothered her, and bothered her a lot, thinking that Megan _would_ have been gone, if it had just been left up to her...she'd always thought she was better in emergencies than that.

April had had to do a lot of thinking about Casey Jones. She had decided there at the quarantine building that she loved him, and she had re-thought it, wondering if it had been the pressure and the crisis that had brought her to the decision...the feeling had frightened her. But the level of commitment and the devotion that Casey had for her was terrifying...mainly because she hadn't recognized it immediately. It had only hit her when she'd noticed how just much time he had managed to free up to do bodyguard duty-

"Don't they miss you at work?" she'd asked him one afternoon when she'd come down to the parking lot to find him napping in the back of the van and waking to claim he'd been watching for Foot...

"Work?" Casey had said. "Oh...I took the summer off."

 _"You quit?!"_ It had almost turned into a full blown argument right there. "Casey, you loved that job!"

No one in New York gave up the things that they worked so hard for, no one at all, it just _wasn't_ done -

But Casey had only shrugged in that annoying, nonchalant way he had of dusting off important issues and put an arm around her shoulders. "Not like I love you, babe." Then he'd given her a little kiss on the cheek and offered to drive.

It had stunned her to silence and left her saddled with a heavy re-evaluation of her own feelings in the matter...things that she hadn't yet resolved.

And so, she had gone back to the research.

The file on her desk was thickening, a fact that pleased her boss, because she'd promised him a story of scandal and intrigue inside the scientific community - a hot topic of crime and dangerous biochemical hazards...

It had sounded good, before the zoo fiasco, but she still had to follow through or face another kind of music that would bother her a great deal more than what she'd taken from Sterns.

Melissa Marshall had pointed her all the right directions; she actually had some replies to the inquiries she'd made weeks ago, had a place to get started. April had copies of the diskettes that the Doctor had given to Megan. - Shredder had the originals now, as well as the canister itself, and he might well be conducting his own line of inquiry parallel to her own.

She did not want Shredder to get to the bottom of it first.

April O'Neil began to dig in earnest...

~o~

Turtles could be incredibly industrious when the mood took them.

Megan hadn't really seen it happen, but the farmhouse had come into habitable condition quickly. She had scouted through the pantry, and spent the third morning at the farm stowing provisions to her satisfaction, uttering audible death threats regarding any unauthorized pilferage of same said goods.

She had seen how these guys could _eat._

They had cleaned out and then installed her in the main floor bedroom. But they had crowded themselves into the upstairs rooms to do it, so that Splinter could have his own space too.

Megan had done some more exploring, and had made a few discoveries that had changed her plans, and necessitated another shuffling of living quarters.

After only a few days in the country, Megan had decided she was going to move out...

The Turtles had, of course, objected, were going to take it personally-

But the barn, she explained, had running water. And a bathtub. It had skylights (of sorts) and was going to be a great deal cooler when the weather really turned hot.

Donatello was the first one to see it her way.

They had all accompanied her out to the barn to see just what she had been talking about. It was a large room in the barn's basement, not a place they had thoroughly explored last year, or this year, for that matter. It might once have been a workshop, but she had been quite right...there was a hand pump that was obviously connected to the well and produced fresh spring water when encouraged to do so. A bit of oil loosened the rust and took away the squeak. There was a wood burning stove in one corner...she could heat water on a whim. There were slanted glass panels set high in the foundation in an adjacent alcove, so the space was light and airy enough once those had been cleaned. She guessed that the alcove had once served as a mini-greenhouse used to start seedlings early in the spring. The stone foundation would keep the place cool. There were far fewer mice out here, because the floor and walls were stone and there was a barn owl resident upstairs...the lack of livestock was something she considered an improvement over the house itself.

"And besides," she had finally capped her argument. "My mother wouldn't like me shacking up with five guys for the summer."

They hadn't had an adequate response for that.

So they had helped her clean the place up and then helped her to move out. It wasn't like she was going far -

By the end of the first week, they were settled. Sunbathing and swimming had become the primary recreational activities. When the work had been finished, all the Turtles gave into lengthy, self-indulgent bouts of laziness -

Splinter allowed the easy-going, laid-back attitude to flourish. They had all earned it, he'd told her. But he didn't allow it for long. By the middle of the second week at the farm, Splinter had put them all back to work practicing their martial arts. He made allowances for Raphael and Leonardo, both of whom were still aching to some degree, but their performances improved visibly on a day-to-day basis.

It wasn't something that the Turtles really considered work either. It was play as much as practice, and they were continually inventing games that would challenge and hone their skills. They spent one entire day scheming and then constructed a gruelling obstacle course, one that Splinter timed them on, and made them run repeatedly until he was the one satisfied with the results.

Donatello had cruised the woods, looking for and finding stout branches suitable for making a few more bo. He cut and trimmed them, stored them in the barn's loft to dry properly. He had set aside one particularly nice piece of maple that he planned to make into a customized bo just for April, "And I've got an oak one for you too, Meg." Donatello was bound and bent that she would learn a few basic defensive moves as soon as her ribs stopped aching.

Raphael took to working with his new sai, the ones they told her Casey Jones had made for him. Raphael hadn't liked them at first. They weren't the same, he complained, had a whole different weight and balance to them than the others. Splinter had tested them, tossing the daggers at targets that they'd set up alongside the barn, and had scored direct hits with them every time.

"You will just have to get used to them, Raphael," he had said. "They are a different grade of steel from the others, but there is nothing really wrong with them. Keep them oiled, though. These may rust."

She spent time with Leonardo, getting to know him better, checking to see that his own aches and pains were diminishing as they should. She recommended a few books that she'd brought along and Leonardo buried his nose in them, the one truly voracious reader among the Turtles.

Michelangelo did as little as possible, eating and sleeping at every given opportunity.

Splinter meditated. He was thoroughly enjoying the fresh air and the sunshine.

And Megan watched them all with the same sort of fascination that had so caught her attention when she'd first encountered them. It was different, seeing them relaxed instead of under extreme stress. They were amazing. They were unique. But mostly, the Turtles were just a plain lot of fun...

Her mother had missed out on nearly all of it.

Megan went through a miserable bout or two of depression over that. She wondered what had happened to the twins and she even wondered how Allan Marshall was getting along these days. When those moods descended, she spent time soaking in her cast iron bathtub until Michelangelo would come along to dislodge her with jokes that came sailing through her doorway written on paper airplanes.

Mike could make her laugh until she cried...he was the one that always seemed to recognize the mood, even when she went out of her way to keep it to herself. And he always pulled her out of it.

She kept her own hands busy, had planned and come equipped to complete a number of pet projects. Her own health was improving...the ribs didn't ache so much anymore and the cuts on her arm were healed. The scars weren't too bad either...Splinter had done a very neat job of stitching them up. The bruises had faded, and the sun tanned the pale skin to a more attractive bronze. The arm, though, was as weak as she had thought it might be, and she set about rectifying that too...

Raphael had told her - worried at the time - how Leo had murmured stupidly about sunshine and hammocks when he'd first been coming out of sedation, and the hammock part had struck her as a brilliant idea. Her mother had taught her how to macramé years ago, and she had come to the farm with a carton full of heavy craft-twine and an instruction book.

Splinter had raised an objection about the fact that she was planning to do most of the work and had told her that they could knot up their own hammocks if they really wanted them. She was doing, he said, far too much for the Turtles that they could very well do for themselves. She was being, he said, _far_ too over-indulgent, and would spoil them-

Megan had smiled and flexed her arm for Splinter, and replied that she was merely being time-efficient. The knot work was re-building damaged muscle.

He had blinked at her, tilted his head and then left her with a thoughtful and slightly vexed expression, as if surprised he hadn't realized that himself.

"But you are still going to spoil them," Splinter had nonetheless told her sagely. "And you cannot do basket-weaving forever, Megan. You must begin to look to your own future."

It had been a problem she hadn't even started to think about, and one that did, very unexpectedly, resolve itself-

Megan had not been ignoring the question. It just hadn't seemed all that important in light of the unexpected events that the summer had so far brought. She had heard the message in Splinter's advice and it had rung close to the sort of thing her own mother might have said, and had, after her father had died. Her mother had been more blunt, but the message was the same.

It was time to start picking up the pieces.

She had begun that task by dumping out the contents of her carry-all one afternoon while Splinter had been working the Turtles. She had decided to take stock, to see just what she _did_ have to work with, knew that there were some important documents among the paper flotsam accumulated in the bag...she had a sum total of one hundred and eighty-three dollars and forty-two cents, leftover from the cash her mother had given her along with the credit card used for those veterinary supplies.

She still had all of her own identification, her license, credit cards and birth certificate. She had been born in Canada, had dual citizenship, and that was something she might be able to do substantial things with. It would be possible to cross the border, get out of the country to a place where happenings in New York were seldom more than a distant rumour, if they had come up publicly at all. She also had her Qualification Certificate, the one that proclaimed her an accredited Animal Care Technologist. She could work, could surely find a job somewhere, even without references. School might have to wait, but she was still young...

It would be harder than she'd first planned, but nothing was impossible. She had never lived extravagantly anyway.

That line of thinking changed, when she finally got to the bottom of the bag and finally opened the mail she had picked up the day she'd gone home with Raphael and Donatello.

She'd had to read it twice, and then she had just sat there, numb with what had been in the envelope that proven to be the only piece of non-junk mail in the lot.

There were forms to fill out and sign and return. She had the proper identifications to complete the documents and have them validated...she would have to talk to April, but Megan was certain that April would co-sign and witness the paperwork...there would be a small town notary public who might not know her name somewhere. The problems could not be insurmountable-

And once overcome, Megan would have access to the insurance policy funds that had been held in trust for her in a Canadian banking institution since her father's death - funds held in trust until her eighteenth birthday, which had come and gone just a few months ago.

She had thought it was too good to be true.

It had taken several further re-readings for the fact to sink in and she had still just sat there, until the Turtles had come looking for her, and found her with tears in her eyes and one hand wrapped tightly around the rings on the end of the braided gold chain.

It had worried them, their faces had fallen into a deep concern before she'd noticed it and then she had just laughed and thrown her arms around every one of them in turn.

"Read this!" she'd said, spilling out the news. "We've gotta go to town!" She had to call April, had to get this thing acknowledged before the bank sent another notice to Allan Marshall and spoiled the whole thing for her. "And the pizza's on me too!"

~o~

Splinter had never had so much attention. Not since the days of Yoshi and Shen anyway...

He was learning to like it. Megan McLaine had arrived here at the farm well equipped, and had obviously planned ahead to pamper him. She had come armed to the teeth with an array of brushes and combs and exotic shampoos and conditioners. She had applied them all diligently.

At first, he had objected. It was taking a great deal of her time and energy. She told him to stop the complaining though - it was for her own good just as much as his, she explained, because the work with the brushes was helping to rebuild the strength in her arm. It had become her standard response to any of his protestations and he still hadn't come up with a good rebuttal for it. So it had become a twice daily ritual. After breakfast and after dinner she would gesture him out of doors, leaving the Turtles to clean up and point to the back porch with one of the array of brushes. Then she would spend the next hour using them, very much to his pleasant surprise. The shampooings and conditionings were a twice weekly affair, and she normally left that up to him, providing he did a good job of it.

Splinter had been quite impressed by the transformation Megan and the Turtles had wrought out in the barn. He had had a misgiving or two about the girl's decision to seek other quarters, but he had come to approve of the change quickly enough when he found her new residence a measure or two above their own standards. That was, however, as things should be. The Turtles were going to be spoiled beyond redemption if they continued to raise their expectations at the current rate, but that was not a reason for Megan to lower her own...the old workshop was quite a habitable space after all, attractive enough in a rustic fashion and brightened considerably by the addition of the antique farm implements and the hanging plants that eventually came to adorn the walls and the airspace below the skylights. It almost looked to Splinter as if a professional decorator had been through.

He was surprised by just how much he came to look forward to his own bath time in such pleasant surroundings. It was an exceptionally good place to meditate-

And he had been even more astonished at the results the baths and the brushings brought. His fur began to grow luxuriantly into all the thinned out patches. His pelt went sleek and shiny, where before it had been dry and brittle. The skin underneath ceased to itch, lost the dry and scaly appearance and became soft and pink and supple. Megan gave him vitamins and mineral supplements. She made him eat a lot of things he hadn't particularly cared for, but was learning to like. She made him lie out in the sun, and rubbed his back and shoulders until he also lost the arthritic ache that had been there for so long he hadn't remembered what it was like to be without it. She took him for long walks around the farm. She sent him to the pond to swim with the Turtles. Finally she told him to get out and practice with them...

She had obviously talked to them about it too. They made him work. He rested, napping in the afternoon and sleeping long and soundly at night. Splinter was feeling wonderful, better than he'd felt in years, he had to admit with some chagrin. He was forced to wonder if he'd been imagining it all along, that he'd always thought he'd taken pretty good care of himself-

Megan McLaine had him very seriously reconsidering his own age-factor...she had pried it out of him one day, that in actual chronological years, he was scarcely eight months older than she was. She had lectured him, as if she was her mother, had pointed out that age was very much a matter of attitude, and that he really ought to have his own adjusted. It had taken him aback, and it had also taken some deep thinking before he realized that she more than likely was correct...the Turtles always treated him like the aging ninja master he had (unconsciously?) trained them to think of him as, and April treated him the same way, having picked the attitude up from them...

He had thought about it, and he had decided to adjust the attitude. After all, he _was_ feeling much younger these days too.

So, when she summoned him out to the barn one morning, when next April and Casey were up for the long weekend, he went, thinking nothing of it, until the two women had him cornered and he had no dignified course to run except to give into the ordeal of the new box of things that April had brought along with her. Casey and the Turtles were dismissed, with instructions not to come back for a minimum of four hours.

Of course it was not an ordeal. He had, in truth, given in cheerfully. April and Megan were his friends. They were not going to hurt him...

He did not mind the manicure or the pedicure. He listened attentively as they discussed the paperwork that Megan had discovered and the plans that were coming rather happily of it. He did not mind terribly when Megan had examined and cleaned his ears. She had done his teeth too, scraping away old build-up and scrubbing them white with some veterinary substance designed for the purpose. He had been quite pleased with the outcome...his teeth were _white_ again, when she had finished. They let him trim his own beard. He had made one token objection, and then given into the bath. But he would have objected far more strongly, right to the point of escape, if he had even suspected that they were going to tint his fur.

He had thought it was just another conditioning, more of the pampering that he also had to admit to himself, he was coming to expect and enjoy. The plastic gloves should have been his first clue, should have made him question the box that they kept very carefully out of his line of sight. Even the scent didn't give it away-Splinter had simply never been that close to hair coloring before. By the time he figured it out and tried to squirm away, they informed him that it was too late. He either had to sit through it or be _orange_ for the rest of the season. He had not known whether or not to believe them, and so he had stayed, mortified, in the tub.

They denied him access to a mirror until it was over. His eyes had gone wide, and when they finally opened the door, he had gone streaking for the pond, thinking that it would just have to rinse out...he had _never_ been this dark before...he-is pelt was a shiny midnight blue-black color - like some - like some common sewer rat!

But, of course, it did not rinse out. It faded slightly, or he convinced himself that it did. Eventually, he'd had to come out of the pond, and they had followed after him with towels and the brushes and combs. There was no point in being sullen about it either. It was done, and they apologized in good humour then proceeded to flatter him shamelessly, telling him-repeatedly-just what a good-looking Rat he really was. He made them brush him out well and for as long as he could prolong those preferred attentions, and simply trusted that they had warned everyone else what to expect.

Casey Jones pretended not to notice a difference. The Turtles all gave him a long, hard once-over and then voiced approval.

"Looks just like he used to," he overheard Michelangelo saying.

"Then, Michelangelo," he retorted indignantly. "You are thinking of some other Rat. I have _never_ been _this_ color."

Then the discussions had gone back to New York, and just what April had been up to for the last few weeks herself.

"I was able to trace the name on the canister back to the originating labs," she explained, over a slice from one of the several large pizzas Casey had made the trip into town for. "Even had an interview with one of the founders - "

"And...?" That news had excited Donatello to no end. "What about them?"

April's face had drawn into a frown. "Dead end." There was regret in her tone. "The labs burned to the ground in what was described as an industrial mishap."

"Arson?" Leo asked then. April's original conjectures about theft and conspiracy had long since taken root in the Turtles' imaginations. Splinter had listened around a number of campfires to the wild speculations they had all been thinking on since the re-discovery of the canister that had been responsible for their own present state of being. Megan had fuelled the speculations with a few well-educated speculations of her own, heavily favouring a gene-hybridization theory.

"It wasn't listed as such in any of the reports. But I'm inclined to think so. The gentleman I spoke with was rather evasive when I touched on the possibility of biohazardous substances on the premises."

"Denied it?" That question from Megan. "There must have been tighter regulations than that."

"If they had some, then they were doing it on the sly... I checked the archives of state regulators too. They had no record of any dangerous substances on file for that lab there either. The only really suspicious coincidence was the disappearance of one of the lab's scientists, the same night the place burned. Seems the guy just vanished. They guessed he took off for the west coast...he was, apparently, very interested in gene-splicing." Megan had smiled with self-satisfaction at the statement.

"With the canister?" It sounded pretty suspicious to Donatello too. "How much would you care to bet?"

April could only shrug. "They never followed it up. That seemed odd to me too. Probably we'll never find out. Dead end. There wasn't anything else I could find out. It was a long time ago, and my boss wouldn't spring for the flight to California. I'm gonna go at it from the other end now, try to find out just where the radioactive phosphorous came from. It's not," she said hopefully, "a very easy commodity to come by."

The next day Casey and April went back to the city. Megan continued to apply her own brand of expert Rat-care. The black did fade, to a rather attractive chestnut brown, and the gray, he was pleased to note, had also been transformed to silver. He grew used to it, and after only a week or two, almost forgot what he'd looked like before.

And surprisingly, he found he didn't mind it at all...

~o~

It was only after the weekend visit from April and Casey that Leonardo realized that life had, more or less, gone back to normal, a condition that was underscored by the fact that Raphael had gone antisocial again.

It had started, Leo decided, the day that Michelangelo gave Megan a handful of flowers. And, of course, being Michelangelo, he'd had to do it in front of a roomful of witnesses.

That Mike was infatuated with the girl didn't surprise anyone...Mike was always falling in and out of love...it only took a pretty face on the tube to turn his head and his affections would take flight and then settle with a cyclic frequency of about four days. Now that the tube was so manifestly unavailable, Mike's affections gravitated automatically to the nearest accessible and very available female.

The biggest difference now was that Mike could actually _do_ something about it...

She talked with him. She walked with him. She _liked_ him, Mike informed them all confidently. She had said so. She had even slept with him once, and while Leo had had trouble getting the details surrounding that incident out of anybody he was quite certain it didn't have whatever status Mike's imagination was currently inflating it to have had.

It had been breakfast-time, and Mike had been very conspicuous by his absence. Mike was not one to miss a meal, especially when Meg was cooking. He had decided she had a divine talent for it (she could perform miracles with canned ham and potatoes) and it had not been much of a surprise when he'd walked in just as the food was hitting the table. But Mike had hovered beside the door with his hands suspiciously behind his shell until she had finally taken note of it.

"It's gettin' cold, Mikie." Megan never called him anything but Mikie anymore. She thought it was cute.

"Here," Mike had said suddenly, once he had her attention. "These are for you."

He'd practically flung the handful of wildflowers he'd been out picking at her as he brought them around. It was a performance right out of Raphael's repertoire, and Raph had frozen in disbelief seeing it from another source.

Meg had warmed up to it immediately, "Mikie! They're beautiful! Thank you-"

And she had kissed him then, just the way that April usually did for Raph. Michelangelo melted. "I know where there's more!" he claimed excitedly.

She had put them in a bucket of water, and made space for the bouquet on the table. "No-this is plenty, Mikie. What we have to pick next are berries." She paused long enough to extract and shoo away a small spider that had been clinging to the flowers.

"Okay! I know where those are too!"

She straightened with a small, knowing smile. She was indulging him. "Hey Mikie? you asking me for a date?"

Mike went down on one knee. "Dudette..." he began his melodramatic appeal. "Will you come berry picking with me?"

"Sure. Why not?" She gave in on a whim, and then squealed when Mike leapt up, grabbed her by one hand and dragged her outside onto the porch.

 _"Don't_ wait up for us dudes," Mike shoved his head back in through the door. "Might not be back 'til midnight."

Raph had groaned loudly, had been groaning through the entire thing, in fact. "Mikie! It's only _breakfast,_ for Pete's sake!"

"Don't wait up Raph." Mike repeated, and then vanished with Megan, off toward the raspberry patch.

Leo had turned to Don and they had both nudged at one another.

"Uh-oh," Don had grinned wickedly. "He's in love!"

"Wooo-yeah! " Leo had grinned back. "He even left his breakfast behind." He had immediately appropriated Mike's share for himself. Meg did have a divine talent for cooking, and Leo wasn't going to waste it.

Raphael, however, had scowled. "You don't give-" he pointed at the assortment of daisies and tiger lilies and Queen Anne's Lace on the table, "- _weeds_ -to a girl!" he objected.

"Com'on, Raph, it's just-"

"It's full of bugs!"

"Like the whole place is. She didn't seem to care."

"She's got allergies. He should have thought of that!"

Don put his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand to stare at their brother across the table. "I didn't hear her sneezing."

"So...so, she-um-she takes antihistamines." Raph had been reaching for that one.

"I happen to think they're kinda pretty," Leo commented with his mouth full. "I like 'em."

"Weeds." Raph repeated, muttering, and pulled another spider from the bunch. "Bugs. It's disgusting."

"So why don't you just go somewhere else and complain about it," Don suggested. "Tell someone who cares."

Raph got up, got mad. "I will, thanks!"

"Please do," Don added drily. "And you're welcome."

"Hey! Where're you goin' to, Raph?" Leo got the question out around another mouthful of breakfast.

Raph was halfway out the door, but spun to glare at them both before he left. _"Not-"_ he said emphatically. "-anywhere near the berry patch! Don't wait up for me!"

They had watched him go, just a little bit baffled by the whole thing. Then Don had reached across the table to scoop up Raph's breakfast and add the contents of the plate to his own. "Do we ever?" he inquired.

"Nope." Leo replied, leaning back in his chair to think about it.

There were other incidents too, other petty and seemingly insignificant quarrels and disagreements. It was Raphael back to his normal, extremely short fuse. He was even squabbling with Megan, and over the most ridiculous things too...one especially heated discussion had ensued when she'd yelled _'Bonsai!'_ instead of _'Banzai!'_ when she'd leapt off the dock and into the pond one afternoon. No one else seemed even to have noticed, but Raphael had thought it fit not only to point the error out, but to dwell on the differences between miniature trees and battle cries for the next half hour. Raph found out again it wasn't a good idea to push her for too long. There had been words exchanged and they had both wound up stalking off in opposite directions thereafter.

Michelangelo continued to bring her wildflowers. They all became accustomed to the practice, except for Raphael, who greeted the bouquets sourly almost every time they appeared.

Even so, it still took Leo almost a whole week to figure out that what was really bothering Raph was that Raph hadn't thought of the flowers _first..._

That realization had come to him in the middle of the night, another stiflingly hot and humid one that had kept just about everyone up - Meg and Splinter because it was so uncomfortable and the Turtles because the heat made them hyperactive - and they had all been restless and scattered. Mike and Don had taken themselves off to the pond to swim, and Megan had put the time to good use and gone at Splinter with the battery of brushes again.

Leo had been rocking lazily in his hammock, giving himself an occasional push with one foot against the wall and dozing intermittently. The hammock that Megan had troubled to macramé was as comfortable as he'd always imagined a hammock might be in the event that he had ever managed to acquire one. He was thinking that he should have done so a long, long time ago...the hammock moulded to his shell far better than the broken down mattress he normally slept on-

Raph had been there too, just as restless as the others and wandering the house aimlessly, in his own hammock one minute, gone the next and then finally settled on the sill of the open window of the room that they had more or less adopted as their own. That was where Raphael had eventually stayed, for as long as the three additional somnolent intervals of time that it took for Leo to recognize it. His hammock had stopped, so he must have been dozing again. He gave himself another shove off the wall absently and resumed the gentle rocking that reminded him of some juvenile illness and Splinter's laptop ministrations. Probably that had something to do with why he liked the motion so much.

It caught Raph's attention briefly, turning his brother's head from whatever had held his gaze out of doors. Leo listened, and faintly, he could hear voices from somewhere down on the porch or in the yard. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it sounded like Splinter and Megan.

"She sure takes care of 'im good," Leo murmured sleepily into the quiet. "Haven't seen Splinter lookin' so good for years."

"Yeah," Raph agreed with a sigh. "Didn't know before we were doing such a lousy job of it."

"Splinter too..." Leo said, in their own defence. "He didn't tell us he needed vitamin shots. Not that we ever exactly had access to any."

"Could've brushed him out a bit more though."

"He never let us."

"Hmm. That's true." Raph shrugged. Splinter had pretty much always insisted on taking care of himself. Only very occasionally had he ever asked the Turtles to scratch his back or comb out his fur...

"So," Leonardo gave himself another push. "So we know better now. Gonna be up to us to take over when she leaves for school."

A long silence had followed. Raph had blinked and looked out the window again. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable and shifted where he sat, tense all at once for no apparent reason.

 _What the hell did I say?_ Leo wondered, wide awake in an instant and trying to think whatever could have upset Raph so much. And Raph was upset. Leo knew Raphael, could read him like a book most of the time, if, and it was suddenly a very big if, he put half a mind to it.

He put his whole mind to it, and it didn't take even thirty seconds to come to the only possible conclusion:

 _Megan._

Everything fell into place. Everything, from the reactions he'd seen all the way back to the crocodile pool, through the pneumonia and right on down to the wildflowers...things that he'd just put off to friendly concern and short temper. Leo had always known that Raph liked her-

 _...when she leaves..._

That was what he'd said. That was _all_ he'd said, and had gotten another one of those shell-backward and up until that moment, inexplicable, reactions.

"Yeah." Raph agreed, eventually. "Guess so."

It had been a really slow reply.

 _Gonna get himself hurt...and he knows it too..._

Raphael was not stupid. He had to have thought it all through by now. But lack of stupidity had never kept him out of trouble before. It was no wonder he'd been acting so weird.

 _Hard time keeping it all in_. Raph couldn't keep a secret, could hardly even keep a straight face, sometimes. Had _never_ been able to, all his life. That was why he was so much fun to tease...Raph embarrassed easily, though he knew better than to take the teasing to heart - most of the time.

Probably not in this.

"Huhnnn." Leo let out a long, thoughtful sigh of his own. He had some thinking to do, the deep and serious kind of thinking. He was going to have to keep a close eye on things, much closer than he had been. He felt as if he'd been blind.

Obvious. Oh, it was so _obvious!_

Raph was-

Raphael was in love.

~o~

Very often, Shredder wondered why he bothered to maintain an office or keep a desk at all. He disliked paperwork intensely, and offices with desks had a distressing tendency to accumulate large amounts of it. He had to shove aside a growing mass of printouts and file folders just to clear enough room on the desktop for his feet -

He let out a long sigh, looked at the stack and decided that the term _paperwork_ was really a misnomer. There wasn't much that he was absolutely required to do with the material, aside from reviewing it and then making decisions based on the information presented. And he could hardly complain...the information there had all been collected at his own request and quite honestly he could do little other than commend those responsible for the timely acquisition, compilation and presentation of the material now sitting there. The stack had begun modestly, with hard-copies of the data that his enemies had actually provided for him intact. It was time to do something with it.

It had taken him more than a week just to calm down after the debacle at the quarantine building, a week spent in a silent, black rage and a ceaseless stalk and prowl about the warehouse that had ultimately deepened the sense of awed respect amongst the ranks at his presence. It had been an exercise in monumental control...or that was how it was interpreted. There had never been any real danger that he would lash out at someone and do some serious bodily damage. His anger had mostly been directed inward...he had ignored Tatsu's advice, had preferred to follow his own, very obviously flawed plan, which, he had afterwards decided, he had both conceived and settled on while both overtired and in extreme pain.

He had been hasty.

He had made mistakes.

He had striven to learn from them and he was moving much more carefully now.

Tatsu had kept the warehouse and their operations running quietly and smoothly, had kept everyone out of his way until the black mood had finally dissipated. Miss O'Neil was back under loose surveillance. The woman was a fool, so much more a fool than he had once thought. Once he had thought it was courage, but now he just thought her a fool...she did not have the sense to run, and - if he was inclined to wait - one day she would be the downfall of her mutant friends because of it.

Shredder was not so inclined.

It had not taken very long for it to become apparent that the mutants had found themselves a very deep hole to hide in. April O'Neil had ceased a greater part of her evasive tactics. She did not stop to make many phone calls from un-tappable public booths. Her consort the hood was very much in evidence, wasting a great deal of time and energy because his own present policy did not include bringing the woman in. It was good of the hood though, to keep himself so readily available. It saved The Foot the necessity of doing double surveillance.

Shredder's eyes went down again to the file folders and printouts. It had not been a total loss, that trip to the zoo. The police had been too late arriving on the scene. The mutants had been gone and so too had been all of The Foot. The police had arrived to find the building empty - save for the crocodiles - the property heavily damaged and such clues as had remained sufficient only to raise more questions than they could possibly answer. One of his only serious concerns had been for the sai that Raphael had left behind with that crocodile - his police contacts had advised him that The Foot's name _had_ come up in at least one official report, though it had only been as conjecture. The 'aliens' had left far more convincing, if baffling, things behind to tantalize the media and capture the imaginations of the masses. Zoo attendance figures, it was reported, had skyrocketed in the days and weeks that had followed.

The other serious concern was still an unresolved one. Allan Marshall was still a loose, if largely defused cannon -

The Professor had gone along with every instruction that had been given to him, had played his role to the best of his ability, which had proven adequate with the proper coercions. It was grief. It was some sort of self-imposed penance. The man was cowed and broken, but obstinately still protecting his sons.

The Marshall twins had proven the one bright focus of the summer.

They had performed flawlessly throughout the police investigations, the ordeal of their stepmother's burial and the media circus that had followed. They had been watched as closely as possible, and there had been a few times when they had been outside of his reach and influence, but they had nonetheless performed, and had, when close surveillance had been established again, returned to The Foot with a loyalty and sense of purpose he wished he could instil in more of the new recruits. Devon had obviously done an excellent sales job on his twin, or perhaps they had both figured out that there would be serious consequences at the slightest hint of defection - The Foot knew where their mother and sister lived, although the point had never, ever come up in their presence. Or perhaps they had been and still were motivated by a need for vengeance...they were concerned that no trace of their stepsister had ever been turned up, aside from the inconclusive findings recovered from the bottom of the quarantine pool...they were eager, it seemed, to track the mutants down and settle the matter to their own satisfaction. They still believed the girl alive. No trace of the body he'd seen the mutants hauling off had ever turned up and the information blackout Tatsu had imposed regarding the operation had been effective. No rumour of Megan McLaine's presence had ever come to either Devon or Trevor Marshall. The girl's corpse was no doubt buried deeply and ignominiously in some sewer.

There had been progress in other areas too.

The canister had also proven another focal point of his attention. It had undergone a great many tests, had been dismantled and subjected to intense study. He had gone to the trouble to hunt up and hire a couple of qualified scientists - one greedy and the other with a large gambling debt - and had felt justified in the expense. They had been producing results, and money aside, they were eager enough to complete the research he had introduced them to. Scientific curiosity, it seemed, was as addictive as any other vice. All of the equipment that they had requisitioned had been obtained at a much, much lower cost, and the thefts had been good practice for his ninja. The warehouse now housed an extensive research facility, and those labs were the primary source of the mass of printouts he had so far accumulated.

The trouble and the expense had been worthwhile.

Shredder now had a much clearer understanding of who had been responsible for the mutants, how and when they had come about, and more precisely _what_ they were. His researchers had provided some of those answers, and Miss O'Neil had led them to all of the rest.

He also now had a very clear understanding of just _where_ the mutants had gone, too.

It had been tedious work. Not terribly difficult, but rather tedious all the same. Shredder had left it up to Tatsu, and Tatsu had seen the task finished through to completion. Again, it had been good practice for his ninja...a whole series of untraceable break and enter operations coupled with detailed archival research, that had begun in the personnel records of Channel Three and finished up in the school records of a small town upstate.

The thinner of the two file folders there on his desk had April O'Neil's name printed neatly on the tab. It contained information about her and her family tree that she likely wasn't aware of herself.

He knew precisely where to look for the mutants now.

Tatsu had dispatched spies to reconnoitre the rural area upstate where April O'Neil's maternal grandparents had owned and operated their family farm. The property was still registered under her mother's maiden name and belonged, on paper, to one of Miss O'Neil's cousins. The property was jointly but very loosely managed by those cousins and by Miss O'Neil, who did the lion's share of it - primarily by default - as all of the cousins now lived on the west coast. Shredder was not at all interested in the distant relatives.

He would have confirmation back soon, would know if the mutants had really found themselves a deep hole, or merely a distant one, in which to hide.

And once he knew, then he could plan.

Very, very carefully, this time...

~o~


	12. True Forces - Chapter 10

**True Forces Chapter Ten**

"Face it dude," Mike complained solemnly. "We're _urban_ Turtles."

Michelangelo was following along behind Donatello on the path to the pond - swimming had become their number one favorite pastime - and Donatello had to agree with him, even though he wasn't getting as bored here at the farm as Mike was. Not yet, anyway. And he was going to miss the pond, badly, once it finally came time to head back to the city. The pond was clean and cool. Clean because it was spring fed and cool in spite of the cold, groundwater source because it was relatively shallow and the summer relatively hot. One had to know sewer water to appreciate the pond fully.

"I mean, I could really use a little tube time," Mike went on. "You know, like, I miss it."

"Com'on Mikie - it's summer. All reruns this time of the year anyhow. You're not missing anything."

"We're missing pizza."

Donatello stopped up short on the path and Mike walked into him from behind. "You just _had_ to say that, didn't you?"

"So, admit it."

"Okay. So - I admit it. I really could do with a little more pizza and some tube time too. And I could - _oops!"_ Donatello had turned and taken another step forward, only to stop suddenly again. "Could do with a little less rural hazard like that too."

There was a skunk nosing and rooting around on the path ahead of them. It looked up, taking note of them as they took note of it. It dismissed them as no danger and continued to go about its business unperturbed.

"Detour?" Mike asked.

"Detour." Don answered, very definitely. Skunks had a reputation that none of them were eager to verify, and Megan had warned them to never, ever surprise one. Some things, she'd also said, didn't wash out.

They backtracked along the path and opted for the scenic route down to the pond via the meadow.

Which was where they found Raphael meandering inattentively through the grass, in another one of those sullen and Leave-Me-Alone moods that he'd been going through lately. Raphael's evasive manoeuvrings hadn't been working out particularly well for him in the last week or two either - there just wasn't anywhere left on the farm that his brothers didn't know where to find him, even when they weren't looking specifically.

Raph wandered over to The Rock, a very large and comparatively flat-faced boulder embedded in the middle of the field - Meg had identified it as a glacial erratic - to settle down there, belly to the stone with his arms hanging over the high side of the rock. It was a great place to sun oneself...the gray stone held the sun's warmth, they'd found, and the flat surface was broad enough to accommodate nearly all of them at any given time. They'd spent a fair amount of post-pond time there recently, and it was especially pleasant at night when the sun was gone but the stone-heat wasn't.

Raph was there by himself, lazy and self-absorbed, and Donatello was minded to just let him be and sneak quietly on past - until the moment that Raph set himself up royally by reaching out and picking a flower that was growing close to the rock and was within arm's reach.

Michelangelo elbowed him silently, a gesture that Don answered with a wicked grin.

 _This_ would be better than anything rerun on TV-

They used every bit of ninja stealth they had, and sneaked up on Raphael carefully through grass and the bright sunshine. They hardly needed to bother - Raphael's mind was elsewhere totally, and it wouldn't have taken a ninja to get as close as they did. Close enough to see that Raph was just lying there, toying idly with the wildflower. His eyes were alternately fixed on the blossom or staring, half-lidded into the grass. Donatello wondered what the hell he was thinking about that would distract him so completely, leaving himself open to the whooping mock attack that sprang on him out of the grass and took him entirely unaware -

 _"Points!"_ Don yelled, quick-punching Raph's carapace twice and spinning to score another with a fast roundhouse kick.

 _"Double points!"_ Michelangelo shouted his own triumph and landed three harmless but well-placed blows on Raph's shell too.

They were not carrying their weapons much these days except to practice with Splinter. In their ongoing ninja stealth and attack exercises, hand blows always counted for more points than weapons-strikes. To be scored against was bad enough, if one was the victim, but to take double points was even worse. Getting hit twice without any intervening retaliation probably ranked as the worst technical defeat Raph had ever suffered in their practice battles.

According to Splinter, a _good_ ninja was always ready for the unexpected.

Raph hadn't been. He lost air, more through surprise than force, rolled in startlement and flipped, only to fall off the high side of the stone and flail clumsily in the tall grass. That only lasted an instant. Raph found his feet and came up into a defensive stance with his fists clenched, poised to block another assault that didn't come. His features were communicating a very odd and mercurial variety of things...dismay, astonishment and anger for the most part, but there was something else there too.

Something that Don thought was just a little bit guilty and blushing. Raph still had the yellow daisy in one hand, its stem snapped now in two different places and drooping forlornly over Raph's knuckles.

"Gotcha." Mike said brightly. "Found a new weapon?"

"Hey, Raph...whatcha doin'? Taking up botany?"

"What?!" Raph's glance shot down to the flower in his fist and he stared at it as if he'd never seen the thing before. The blush deepened, as if having it there embarrassed him. Don watched as Raph's eyes widened in disbelief, either because he'd been so taken by surprise or because he'd been caught picking flowers after that morning's mute disapproval of the same practice from Michelangelo. Don couldn't decide, but whichever it was, Raph gasped again and repeated himself. _"What?!_ What do you two think you're doing?!" He flung the daisy aside and anger fast overtook the astonishment.

Mike's eyes followed the flower. "Collecting points," he responded easily. "Not weeds."

Donatello snickered - the daisies were one of the primary components of the bouquets for Megan. "Checking for bugs, Raph?"

"Spiders?" Mike inquired, leaning on his shoulder, a close conspirator.

"Spiders." Don confirmed. "Lots of those in weeds."

Mike shook his head sadly. "But, Raph-"

"- she's got allergies, Raph." Don finished the sentence for Mike, reflecting thoughtfully on a previous conversation.

 _"What!?"_ Raphael's vocabulary seemed to have diminished considerably. His eyes had widened further. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I _don't_ have to - "

"Oh! Sorry -" Donatello interrupted. "I forgot. I forgot she takes antihistamines."

"She does?!" Mike feigned shock. "Oh, of _course_ she does, she - "

 _"I do not have to listen to this!"_ Raph's voice rose to a shout. He was livid and the flush was nearly all anger now. For a second, Don was almost glad that Raph didn't have his weapons either; he had that near-the-edge look in his eyes. Raph didn't like unpleasant surprises and rude awakenings.

"Com'on, Raph," Don shrugged the whole thing off. "We're goin' swimming. Wanna come?" Conciliation seemed like a good idea.

But Mike pushed it. "Yeah, come swimmin', Raph...you can pick some seaweed too."

Donatello groaned. "Mikie..." Raph really wasn't in the mood.

But Raphael just made a noise of enraged exasperation and spun to storm off without another backward glance.

"Nice work, Mikie. Now he's _really_ mad."

"He's gotta learn to lighten up a bit. Com'on, he knows we're just kidding. He always acts like that. It's _Raph."_

"Yeah, I know, but - "

Donatello was interrupted right then by a very loud and very surprised yelp from the direction of the path.

Mike's gaze went that way too, full of slow realization. "Oops." Mike said.

"Uh...you don't think that Raph just..." Don let his own voice trail off into silence.

 _"DAMN!"_ Raphael screamed outrage from somewhere unseen along the wooded path, the very same path that they had just gone out of their way to avoid for good reason.

The skunk, it seemed, had just scored points too.

~o~

It was the single most humiliating experience of his entire life.

Raphael had been angry when he'd left his brothers there in the meadow. It had gone to blinding fury and he remembered actually thinking that he would kill the skunk - but that had deteriorated extremely rapidly as the full extent of what the skunk had done to him made itself manifest. The rage went to an utter and desperate disgust and he soon became terrified by the very thought that the smell might not ever come out.

He had never been so completely grossed out.

There was no escaping it. He had tried, had gone directly to the pond and submerged, thinking at least to get the offending scent off the wind. It was futile - it was in his nostrils, his sinuses, his throat and lungs - it had to be, because the miasma went with him to the bottom of the pond, where had had sat for as long as disconsolately possible before need finally forced him up for air. He sucked the fresh stuff deeply, panted, wheezed, did everything he could to expel what was tainting his respiratory system and then set about deliberately hyperventilating. He went back to the bottom and stayed there. It was a practice he adopted and repeated a number of times. He did not want to talk to _anyone_. Because it was, of course, all his own fault.

He'd been inattentive enough to be scored against. Not once, but twice. _Twice!_

He'd been angry enough to be blinded by it, and had practically tripped over the skunk.

He'd been too slow to get out of the way of the skunk's response to the clumsiness.

It was impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend it never happened, impossible to hope that no one would notice if he didn't mention it.

Splinter would ask questions.

There would be lectures.

There would be snickering and teasing, probably _forever_. He would never live it down, never. He _knew_ his brothers.

There had been a flurry of activity on the dock, the third time he'd gone up for air, his brothers and Megan and Splinter too, all gathered there with varying degrees of anxiety that he dispelled with sullen but negative replies to questions about whether or not he'd gotten any in his eyes. He hadn't thought to worry about that until the question had come, and then he had to wonder if he'd gotten off easy.

The lecture came, with the next requisite trip to the surface. Splinter had dismissed his brothers and Megan, and the admonitions were delivered in the strictest of terms. Raphael was told very sternly whose fault the whole thing had been before Splinter finally let his tone go sympathetic.

"I am certain it is a lesson you will not quickly forget, Raphael," Splinter said, and then dismissed him too, with a straight face. "But one day you will laugh about it, though that may be very difficult to accept at the moment."

Michelangelo thought the whole business hilarious, and so did Donatello, though Don was keeping the mirth in better. They had appeared again on the dock, had come - ostensibly - to offer their condolences and sympathies, such as they were.

It wasn't malicious, not really, but they were enjoying themselves and that only made him angry again, particularly when they told him that Meg had gone to town to fetch some remedy or another for him. Town was a long way, and that she had to go to the trouble because of something that they had provoked - he still couldn't help but feel they ought to share the blame - heated the anger nearer to rage again. So he told them just what he thought and left his manners out of it, presuming Splinter to be out of earshot.

It was the highest point of the day when Leonardo arrived at the peak of it, came to stand behind the other two on the dock and glared at them as if Leo understood that very clearly too. It was nice to have moral support from some quarter.

The day passed very slowly. Leo told him afterwards that his record time under was close to thirty-four minutes.

The smell did not go away. He did not become inured to it. He was still grossed out.

It was well after the dinner hour when Megan had appeared on the dock and waited for him to surface again. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to her either, not in his present state. But she had seen him come up, and caught his gaze when he'd looked that direction.

"You can come out now, Raph," she told him. "It's safe now."

 _"I'm not,"_ he began emphatically, "-not afraid of skunks, Meg!"

"That -" she retorted indignantly, "- wasn't what I was talking about. _They're_ not here, or anywhere hereabouts, and that's what you want to know, isn't it?"

 _They_ , of course meant his brothers. He wondered why she had so much animosity in her tone, but she had that part of it right. He still wasn't in any mood to deal with them, not even Leo. "I'm not fit company," he muttered, still sulking.

"And you're not gonna be if you don't come out of there and do something about it either. It _will_ wash out, you know. You just have to have the proper kind of bath."

"Fine. I'll take it by myself, thanks."

Raphael was wondering what all the stuff in the brown bags behind her was. He'd seen what her sort of bathing had done for Splinter- and that was a good thing, but this - _this_ just had to be some really nasty remedy, he was convinced.

"Get out of the pond, Raph."

He'd heard the same no-nonsense tone out of her mother. But he was in no mood for dictates, however well meant. He took a few deep breaths, oxygenating his blood again.

She looked up at the sky nonchalantly, "I thought-" she began slowly, but loudly. "- I really had thought, Raph, that we were friends."

Raphael lost his concentration and exhaled sharply because that statement had taken him unaware too. She'd just tossed it into his court, the whole thing.

He'd had to insist once, had had to insist that they were friends. To keep her from leaving - she used it now, and it made him stay. Megan had known it would.

He either had to get out of the pond, or - or not be her friend then. He did not like that idea, no, not in the least...

"I've done this before, Raph," she went on in an extremely conversational tone. "Used to have a dog that got it like that once."

She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bucket that he recognized as one from the barn and something that turned out to be a small plastic inflatable swimming pool. She removed the wrapping and began to blow it up.

He approached the dock slowly, but he didn't get out until she said she was ready for him.

There was a stiff bristled scrub-brush, a large sponge, a can opener and ten big cans of tomato juice. He hated tomato juice.

He had to sit in the little pool, and she poured the stuff all over him, a horrid, textured cold that left him scowling. She had him take off his mask and waistband, his knee and elbow pads - those she put into the bucket and soaked in another can of juice.

"Acid takes the smell out," she'd said, and started scrubbing with the brush, chattering all the while about dogs she'd known, places she'd lived and things she'd done.

She distracted him, reminded him that Casey and April were coming in a few days and told him he _would_ be fit company before then.

She never once mentioned the noxious odour, and that began to fade too, almost as soon as she'd gotten him drenched in the juice.

"Stuff works," he commented, looking down at the mess he was in, and she was in, the both of them wet and spattered with the contents of seven of the cans and looking far more like the victims of an attempted murder than of a skunking -

Megan shrugged. "Acid. Spaghetti sauce would've worked too."

"Or pizza sauce?"

"Or pizza sauce. But that would have been considerably more expensive."

"Tomato juice on special?"

"Yeah...actually it was."

"Lucky."

"Suppose."

"How'd you get all this stuff back here?"

"With a great deal of imagination and cleverness, Borrowed that old bike out of the shed, took a knapsack along - "

He wished then that he hadn't asked. The information got him thinking, and the thinking stopped him cold -

~o~

It surprised her, the look that she got out of him. Megan saw the realization in Raphael's eyes, the putting-together of a probable sequence of events. The bike was old, the road to town mostly unpaved and uphill on the return trip, the weather damned hot and the cans of juice heavy. It had been tricky. It had been hard work and it had left her short of breath, panting and wondering if the pneumonia had scarred her lungs -

Right now she wasn't aching. She hadn't stopped moving long enough, but she would stiffen up by morning... it had been more exercise than she was accustomed to after the injuries and the illness, and her back and ribs had _hurt._ She wasn't complaining, certainly hadn't meant to.

But it was there, as if she had, all the realizations in those soft, liquid brown eyes that she'd always thought were Raphael's most devastating weapon.

"I'm sorry - " he whispered into the sudden quiet, and there was hurt in his tone. "Meg, I'm sorry that - "

"What for?" she objected, taking a playful swipe at his snout with the end of the scrub-brush. "It's not your fault." But then she had to think. "Ummm...is it?"

He blinked several times and looked away, casting his glance across the pond toward the general area he suspected his brothers had gone.

"Uhhh - well..." he began slowly. "I guess that depends on just who you ask."

Nothing he wanted to admit to then, she surmised. Which meant, she further took it, that he figured it _was_ his fault. Certainly it explained why he was apologizing for the mishap.

She smiled at him and shrugged. "So accidents happen. Forget it."

"Not likely."

"Gonna get reminders then, are you?"

"Plenty." That said with a bit of apprehension. "Never gonna live it down," he added. "Never."

Megan traded the scrub-brush for the sponge, used it to wipe at Raphael's shell and then at his shoulders and arms, where the scrub-brush would have been too damaging. "You always get picked on like that?" It had been getting excessive, she began to think. It was his turn to shrug.

"Not always...they're getting bored."

That struck her as a distinct possibility. There really wasn't a lot to do here at the farm that the Turtles hadn't already done, and done repeatedly.

"Yeah? And how about Raph? Is he getting bored too?" She squeezed the sponge, making juice run down his arm...the muscle definition there was unreal. She wiped at the mess. "Gonna have to rinse for the final wash soon," she commented, gesturing at the last two unopened cans on the dock.

"Bored? Me?" Raph repeated the word as if he hadn't quite heard it properly. His eyes came to hers again. "No. I've been...I've been having a good time."

 _"This - "_ she teased him gently, "- this qualifies as a good time, does it?" He had a way of making some of the most contradictory statements.

Raphael argued and groused and spent half his days in self-imposed solitude and then had the audacity to call it a good time.

He blinked and realized what he was saying. It almost looked as if he blushed... but it was hard to tell in the dusk and with the green.

"Well -" he began slowly " - well, I like the company, anyway." Raph said then, and didn't look away -

 _He has the most amazing eyes_ , she thought again...

The motion with the sponge stopped and for a long minute she just looked into those amazing eyes, not at all trying to define what was there. Her hand went up to pat his cheek, and that made him blink one more time-

Something happened.

Megan simply couldn't pull her eyes away, had no desire to. Raphael seemed caught in the same eye-lock. Her hand was still resting there on his shoulder with the sponge balled under her fingers and she let them go loose, let the sponge tumble into the little pool, let her fingertips fall back onto his skin.

His hand was coming up to touch hers, she noticed it peripherally and didn't move to evade it -he'd touched her hand before, he'd -

She seemed to be holding her breath.

Raphael sat up very straight, very suddenly. "I've - I've gotta-umm -gotta go rinse off now..." He stood up, backed out of the little pool as she stood too and found out that her heart was hammering.

"Uh-yeah -" she managed herself, had somehow lost the ability to speak coherently.

"Gotta rinse -" he repeated, and then he turned and dove into the pond, going deep.

Megan stood there, blinking after him, and began to wonder just how deep she was in herself. She was confused...but only for a moment. She spun on her heel when that moment was up, moving swiftly off the dock and onto the path.

She knew where Michelangelo was. And she suddenly wanted to talk to him...

~o~

Leonardo was displeased.

He was not happy, not the least bit happy with his brothers, not with any single one of them because they were all behaving disgracefully.

He was annoyed because he suspected Michelangelo as the prime instigator of the skunk episode - he wasn't sure why, and couldn't figure out how Mike had managed it, but the suspicion was there and it was a nagging one.

Leo was determined to uncover the details leading up to the incident but was having a problem coming up with a non-accusatory question with which to broach the topic. He didn't have any proof, just suspicions, Suspicions that were fuelled by the giddy, tittering little fits that Michelangelo kept lapsing into for no apparent reason. Mike loved practical jokes, and this struck him as a particularly funny one-

He was annoyed with Donatello too, who had, at the outset, conducted himself in a decent fashion. Don had exhibited a notable concern for Raphael and made a commendable contribution in helping Megan get the bike roadworthy for the trip to town.

Then Don had discredited his motives entirely by giving her a list of things to pick up while she was there, since she was going anyway -

He was annoyed with Raphael too, who had been idiot enough to have gotten himself jumped in the first place, and then compounded it by taking the hit from the skunk in the second.

Leonardo was even annoyed with himself, because he hadn't yet decided just what to do about the whole thing, or even if he should do anything at all. Saying something, saying anything, might just complicate the whole business.

But Megan solved that problem for him.

Leo had also been annoyed with Megan, because she had actually picked up the things that Donatello had asked her to and burdened herself all the more awkwardly for the ride back from town. It had taken her hours.

She hadn't uttered a single word of complaint, but she hadn't looked good when she'd finally come labouring up the laneway, walking the bike in an effort to catch her breath. The trip had taken a lot out of her, but she had nonetheless cheerfully dispensed Donatello's goods with an apology for the somewhat flattened state of the marshmallows...she had evidently used them to cushion the heavy lower edge of the knapsack against her backbone.

One of those said bags of marshmallows had just been ripped open and Michelangelo was laying claim to the first of his own fair shares thereof - he had two of the lopsided confections impaled on the far end of a stick and extended out over the campfire that Splinter had strongly suggested they entertain themselves with. Splinter hadn't actually told them to leave Raphael and Megan be for the duration of the corrective bath, but it had been there in the tone that he'd used when making the suggestion. The marshmallows had been reason enough to see that suggestion carried through.

Leo watched as the things caught fire. Michelangelo did not take his marshmallows toasted lightly. He actually _preferred_ them incinerated.

"What do want to burn 'em like that for Mike?" Leo asked irritably. "You're a pyromaniac, you know that?"

Mike lifted the stick from the fire. "What's the matter Leo? Never heard of flambe?" Mike watched the things as they burned. "You have no class at all -"

Waving the stick gently, Mike blew on the blackened mass to put out the fire. Then, all at once, his expression changed, eyes widening in shock as he stared past Leo's shoulder into the darkness, letting out a startled gasp at the same time.

Leo spun.

Megan was moving toward their campfire with wide, purposeful strides. Leo blinked at her in alarm and then relaxed as he realized it was only tomato juice that she was spattered with. For that first instant she'd looked as if she'd been bloodily mutilated, and that was what had so startled Michelangelo. She looked angry.

"Uh-oh." Donatello murmured dismay as she neared the campfire and stopped, folding her arms to glower at all of them before singling out Michelangelo.

Mike had relaxed too, once he'd identified the mess as harmless, and offered the opened bag of marshmallows to Megan with one hand as he continued to blow at the smouldering mass on the end of the stick. Her angry glare kept his gaze focused upwards, and he failed to notice that the marshmallows had flared up again just as he was about to bite into them.

 _"Mikie!"_ Megan had seen it as well, but the warning came too late.

Michelangelo yelped, burned his lip on the charred lump and let go of the stick. It fell, hit his shell and deposited a hot glob of melted marshmallow and blackened flakes halfway down his belly plates.

Meg let out an exasperated noise. "For God's sake, Mikie!" For an instant she lost the anger in a wash of concern and irritation. She bent to pull Mike's fingers away from the affected area.

"Let me have a look - "

"Ouch!" Mike exclaimed loudly from behind the fingers. He was grinning though, and he leaned forward as her face came close. "Gonna kiss it better?" he blinked at her hopefully, wishing hard.

She pushed him backward off the log. "I want to talk to you!" Megan stared down at him for an instant and then backed away to pace impatiently while Mike picked himself up, still grinning.

Mike dusted himself off and scraped the glob of marshmallow from his shell. "She wants to talk to me - " he said, to no one in particular, as if it was some sort of special honour she was about to bestow.

Leo didn't think so.

"Better lose the happy face Mikie," Donatello warned him. "I think maybe -"

Megan swung around and transfixed Don with another piercing stare.

"I'll talk to you later." Her voice was dead flat.

"Uh-oh." It didn't look like Don thought that was going to be fun.

 _"Today Mike!"_ Megan was losing the patience she was exercising. "I want to talk to you _today_." She reached out and caught the long ends of Mike's mask where they were dangling behind his head and hauled him away into the darkness.

That was when Mike seemed to realize he was in trouble.

 _"- but it wasn't my fault, Meg, honest it wasn't! It was - "_

Mike's voice receded into the distance until the protests were all but unintelligible.

Leonardo turned his gaze to Donatello, who was keeping his nose very carefully averted. "Well?" Leo prompted.

Donatello shrugged. "Well, it really wasn't his fault anyway," he answered lamely. "Really." He sighed, as if the conversation was over and extended his hand for the bag of marshmallows.

But Leo leaned forward and intercepted the bag first. Don opened his mouth to complain, but thought better of it when he saw the look that Leo nailed him with.

"Start talking." Leo said.

~o~

The girl was distracted.

Splinter could tell, just from the way she was handling the brushes...there was an occasional tug and pull, and a little more pressure than she was normally wont to use. And, aside from that, there was also silence, where usually there was chatter.

In fact, she had been quiet ever since the day before yesterday-skunk day. Nor was she the only one. Michelangelo was behaving in an atypically sullen manner and he suspected that he would find Raphael in a similar mood, should Raphael ever decide to present himself publicly again. Splinter had not seen Raphael since the lecture at the pond. Even Donatello was keeping his head down, and Leonardo was watching them all, as if on the alert for some sign of subversiveness.

"Megan, you are troubled," he said gently.

The brush paused in its downward sweep across his shoulders. He had not been looking at, her, but he turned his head now to glance at the girl where she was sitting behind him.

Her expression was one of carefully schooled neutrality. She shrugged slightly. "The Turtles are getting bored." Megan replied, a statement that was almost as neutral as her expression.

"Oh. I would not worry much about that." Splinter said. The girl worried over the oddest things. "They are quite good at amusing themselves."

The expression went fleetingly sour. "Yeah." She agreed with him, but the affirmative was almost as curdled as her tone. As if that was the problem. She fell silent, and pushed his nose back around with the end of the brush. "Not important," she said, and the brush went to his back again.

His nose, however, swung right around. "Megan." He prompted her for information.

She did not meet his eyes. "They're picking on Raph." she said.

His shoulders relaxed. She _did_ worry for odd reasons. "Raphael does not allow that," he assured her. "And if it is about the skunk, the novelty will wear off and it will not last long, deserved though it might be."

"Deserved?" She very nearly lost her grip on the brush. _"Deserved?!"_

Splinter sighed. Her sympathies were misplaced in this. Megan was obviously taking Raphael's part in the matter. "Megan, Raphael was not paying attention. He should not have - "

"He was angry."

"That has never been an excuse that I would accept from any of them. Anger is another one of Raphael's problems."

"They jumped him."

"He was not - " Splinter said firmly, "- paying attention then either. Megan, please - you must understand how very important it is for the Turtles always to pay attention to their surroundings. It is their survival. They cannot afford to be inattentive, not even for a few moments. You must understand that it is better for Raphael to be jumped by his brothers and learn a lesson from it that it would ever be to be jumped by - "

"Okay!" Megan interrupted him, looking distressed, "Okay, I catch the drift. I can - I can see where you're coming from. You're right. It's only sense, isn't it?"

She lowered her eyes. The tug and pull was back in the motion. Maybe she saw the sense, but she certainly didn't see or feel the justice. Something was _bothering_ the girl.

"Megan," he began again softly. "Raphael's brothers are not the problem. They do not - "

She interrupted him again. "I know what his problem is!" Megan's eyes came up with the snap in her voice. Then, as if it had embarrassed her, she let her shoulders slump, and a tiny smile to curl her mouth upwards. She pushed his nose forward one more time. "Forget it. Forget I even brought it up. Nobody likes a tattle-tale."

He did not turn his gaze around again. His ears went flat to his head. He wondered immediately about his own lack of attention, troubled at once himself.

 _I know what his problem is._

There was a message there in Megan's tone, in the inflection that she had given to that statement. An emphasis on the _I_ _know_ , that made him suspicious as to the nature of the problem. As if she shared it, somehow. She was troubled about something...something that related strongly to Raphael, and he had just turned a deaf ear to whatever she'd been trying to bring up in the conversation. She had just given up on it, had not found the sympathetic or even willing listener she'd needed right then-

His ears stayed down. "Megan," he began once more, quite certain that the inside skin of his ears was blushing pink with embarrassment. "Megan, forgive me. I was not listening. You are troubled. I am listening now."

The brush didn't hesitate in its movement. "It's not important." Megan said lightly, shaking her head. "Doesn't really matter. Forget it."

Splinter did not press her. She was simply no longer prepared to divulge any information. He had wasted the opportunity.

The chatter was back. She was sounding cheerful now. Hollowly so.

Splinter let her ramble, listening absently but thinking very intensely along other lines altogether.

 _Something to do with Raphael..._

That much was definite...she had been very defensive on his behalf.

In fact, she had always been curious about Raphael. He had, in the history of the brushings, told her many a tale of the trials and tribulations of the raising of four mutant Turtles - and he realized now that she had nearly always asked more questions about Raphael than she had about the other three lumped together. It pointed his thoughts in a particular direction -

 _No. Not that._

Perhaps it was something else, something that didn't concern the Turtles at all. "Megan, is it about your mother?" He asked the question suddenly, turning his head to catch her reaction.

The girl had not grieved - or she had not availed herself of his shoulder if she had.

"Huh? My mother?" She blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "What about her?"

 _Well - so, that was not at the root of it..._

"Things did happen rather quickly, after we last discussed her," he went on, to complete the train of thought. "And then you were very ill. You have never grieved for her, Megan." On reflection, he was rather surprised with himself for not having brought it up sooner.

She shrugged, as if it was no longer a matter of consequence. "Sure I did. Ragged all over Raph about it. Didn't he say? You were...you were sleeping at the time, I think."

 _Raphael again!_

"No. No, he did not mention it...he is not - " Splinter twitched his nose at the notion, "- usually very good at that sort of thing."

"He was trying to be nice at the time. I don't think he expected the scene that he got. But he did okay. He survived it."

"Raphael is very much a survivor."

She paused. "Even when he doesn't pay attention."

He could only smile wryly. "So far. So far, Megan." It was not an excuse either, not a line of reasoning that he had ever accepted, any more than emotional lack of control. "You are fond of the Turtles," he stated then, into the silence that had followed.

"Of course I am...can't think of too many people who wouldn't like them, given the opportunity."

"And," he continued, in the same casual tone. "You are especially fond of Raphael."

That _was_ it.

She had been looking at him as he'd said it, and she still was. But the troubled look was back in abrupt full-bloom. She dropped her gaze quickly enough when she realized that he'd touched the core of the matter.

She didn't deny it. "Yeah...I guess I am." Megan answered slowly.

He drew a deep breath.

 _Yes. It explains so many things._

"How fond?" Splinter did press her now. His voice was very, very serious. She didn't mistake that. "Megan?"

She let out a long sigh of her own. She did not look up. "Too fond," she replied quietly, but in all seriousness too. "And don't stare. It's not polite."

He agreed with her, and turned his nose around forward. "No. It is not." He gave her the nominal privacy that the about-face provided.

Megan picked up where she had left off, resumed the combing out of his fur. He was thinking again, very deeply.

"I don't know what to do about it." Megan offered, after a moment's quiet.

 _Nor do I-_

Splinter turned, coming full about this time and picked her hands up, discarding the brush. "You must talk to Raphael. Evasion is seldom a viable option, not in matters of the heart. You must decide what it is that you feel. And you must tell him. I would advise him the same. And I will, if you wish-"

"No!" Her eyes went wide with alarm. "I don't - "

"I will leave it to you then. Megan, summer is almost over. You do not have much time. Not much time left to endure the difficulty and not much time to resolve it, one way or another." Already, he could see, there was pain...here, and without a doubt, with Raphael too. It explained so very many things -

"I know." Megan said, very softly, and he believed that she did.

She knew, and that was the source of the pain. The source of the troubled look in her eyes.

And when it came to the things that he knew now, Splinter thought, first and foremost among them was that he had no business whatever lecturing Raphael about lack of attention -

~o~

The farm appeared deserted.

That was the way it was supposed to appear, still as deserted and as derelict as the farm had become over the past decade of neglect, but April O'Neil's pulse picked up anyway-things had been quiet in New York and the drive upstate had been more relaxed than previous drives had been. The continued quiet out of The Foot had been weighing on her mind. Lately she had had no awareness, no sense at all that she was being followed, and she had learned to trust her instincts in that. Or maybe she had just become accustomed to it again. Nonetheless, it made her suspicious. It was as if The Foot _knew_ something.

Her pulse settled quickly enough though, as the Turtles and Splinter emerged from whatever places ninja vanished into, once they had decided that it wasn't strangers coming to call. They had not lost all sense of caution either. Megan McLaine appeared from her retreat in the barn (of which April highly approved) and the next few moments were spent in greetings accompanied by all the usual hugs and kisses.

"So who's missing?" April finally had to ask them. "Com'on, where's Raph?" Raphael, she knew, could read a calendar just as well as the rest.

She got three different but nearly simultaneous answers.

"'Round someplace"

"Not far."

"Dunno April." The three Turtles looked to one another as she folded her arms. She waited. "Where is he?" she repeated. Something was up.

They all hesitated to reply and April's gaze went over to Splinter.

Megan McLaine had folded her arms too, and was keeping a very close eye on the Turtles that were present.

"Raphael," Splinter began, clearing his throat. "Has not been making public appearances recently," he stated with a tiny shrug.

"He ran into a little trouble -" Donatello supplied vaguely.

"But he's okay -" Leonardo was quick to add, when April's brow creased with worry.

Michelangelo was shuffling, as if he could hardly contain himself.

"He got - umm-" His tone had been all bubbly, but he stifled a near chuckle and changed it under a withering glare from Megan. "Raph had a little accident." Mike cast one uneasy glance at the girl staring him down. "He got skunked." Mike said finally, keeping his voice level and serious.

For an instant, April had just stared at them, relieved that it was nothing more serious than that, but very rapidly forming a picture in her head of just how that might have happened and what the ensuing scenarios had likely been, knowing Raphael.

Casey hooted. _"Skunked?!"_

Casey was standing behind her and while she hadn't turned around, she could also see in her mind's eye the broad grin that had accompanied that hoot.

April reached around behind her with unerring accuracy and grabbed Casey by the shirt to pull him close as she did pivot on one heel.

"Don't..." she warned him in an icy monotone, able to read from the group that it had been one all too common response and one already dealt with. "You want a date tonight or not?" Casey had offered her a night out on the town, dinner and a movie, and she had accepted. A date without suspected surveillance had really appealed to her. And she hadn't seen the movie playing locally yet either.

Casey Jones composed himself, cleared his throat as if it had been a cough he'd impolitely uttered and then asked after Raphael's health and well-being.

Megan finally relaxed. "He's okay. He's cleaned up too. But he hasn't decided that he's fit company yet." She paused, as if waiting for some sarcastic comment to come from one of the Turtles. "He is-" she said firmly, just daring any one of them with her tone alone to contradict her, "- fit company."

April took a deep breath and let it go.

"Well..." She would have to go looking for Raphael then. "I'm glad it's not serious." There were a few places that she figured Raph apt to be.

She moved back to the van, dropping her bag from where it was slung over her shoulder and tossing it into the front seat. She traded the bag for one of the buckets of fried chicken that she and Casey had stopped in town to pick up. She'd thought a change from pizza wouldn't hurt them much. They weren't _that_ fussy. The Turtles eyed the bucket hungrily.

She denied it to them in a glance, pretending it was the only one.

"You'll probably find him down by the pond," Megan told her.

"Or perhaps, in the meadow." Splinter guessed.

"Try the raspberry patch." Don suggested.

"Or the clearing." Leo advised.

"Could be anywhere." Mike added, not very helpfully. "He climbs trees too." It had been another afterthought, and it was even less helpful than his first comment.

But April wasn't worried and she said so. "I'll find him," she told them all and then couldn't resist the temptation...she knew how they teased their brother sometimes. "Raphael is-" she said slowly, so that it would sink in, "-my favorite Turtle, you know." It never hurt to give them something to think about...

~o~

It had been a minor pastime for years among the Turtles, but Raph-Baiting was not one that Splinter had ever approved of. Occasional teasing was one thing, but sometimes it got out of hand and with Raphael one had to be careful just how far one pushed or Raph was apt to answer back with a sai; Raph-Baiting always had that element of surprise in it.

The bait tonight, that he had just overheard, had been some sort of comment having to do with _weeds..._

Tonight, however, the answer-back with a sai didn't happen. For one thing Raphael did not have his sai with him. Splinter watched as Raphael just got up and went away, without even a mild display of the verbally abusive retaliation that he was usually good for. And so, it had been a short visit since Raphael had come back to the farmhouse with April -

"Hmmm." Donatello shrugged at Michelangelo. "No fireworks tonight, I guess." His attention went back to the stick he was stripping of bark and he kicked the bag of marshmallows over to Michelangelo so that his brother could open it. They had not noticed either that Leonardo was glaring at the both of them until he spoke himself. Not noticing things was becoming a problem that he would have to deal with, but in the next lecture and not the one currently taking shape in his mind.

"Fireworks?" Splinter said, with surprise, as his eyes went from one Turtle to the next when they looked up. Leo was the only one that held his gaze, the only one that seemed to understand. The other two suddenly went uneasy, as if realizing they'd made some sort of mistake, but weren't too sure exactly what. It was just as well that April and Casey had gone to town for the evening...he _did_ have some lecturing to do, and it was suddenly very apparent that it needed to be done immediately. "Fireworks?" he repeated softly. "Raphael is suffering and you anticipate fireworks?" Splinter sighed, closing his eyes with a subtle shaking of his head. "No, my sons. Sit down, all of you."

Donatello and Michelangelo traded guilty glances, evading the exasperated look that Leonardo threw at them. Leo, Splinter knew, had told them to ease up on Raphael, but they obviously hadn't taken him seriously.

Probably it had not really dawned on them until that moment that there had been any real reason to. Splinter could see the questions there in their eyes. Hadn't they left all that serious business back in New York? Raphael - suffering? It was just Raphael being...Raphael, wasn't it? What could be so serious? What hadn't they given enough consideration to?

There was a long silence as they settled themselves around the campfire, a silence that continued as Splinter took a moment to tend it, tossing a few sticks and another log onto the fire and then poking at it with another stick that he had reserved for that purpose. Sparks erupted briefly, and the blaze brightened, casting red-gold highlights in his silvering pelt. He finally moved back, making himself comfortable on the log that the Turtles had dragged there earlier in the day.

Splinter sighed again. "Yes," he began slowly. "Raphael has been suffering and like Raphael, he has been keeping it to himself. But he is not very good at hiding it. I am surprised some of you have failed to notice." He did not direct his gaze to Donatello or Michelangelo, but they both shifted uncomfortably in their places.

"Guess he has been acting a bit strange," Donatello ventured to say into the quiet. "It's Meg. Isn't it?"

"Damn right it is" Leo replied sharply. "Just where the hell have you two _been?_ I - "

"Thank you, Leonardo." Splinter interrupted mildly. "That will be enough of that."

Leonardo shut his mouth tightly, but he was still annoyed with the other two.

Michelangelo was confused, as if he couldn't quite put it all together. "What are we talking about? Meg? Like Meg and Raph? You mean like they're...they're - "

"Emotionally involved." Donatello supplied drily for him, because it was so blatantly obvious now that it had been pointed out. "I feel like an idiot," he added sheepishly.

"But," Michelangelo protested, still not quite able to accept the notion. "But seriously? Like for real? But that's - "

"That," Splinter interjected. "Is why your brother is suffering. Raphael is..." he failed for words, something he seldom ever did. He sighed one more time and then began again. "You must all know by now that of the four of you, it is Raphael who is destined to follow his heart. If you do not understand that yet, then you have never understood him at all. And now...now Raphael has lost his heart, and _he does not know what to do."_

There was another pause. Another shower of sparks as one of the larger logs in their fire collapsed in on itself.

"It is a crisis you will all face, sooner or later." Splinter continued. "Raphael is but the first. Perhaps," Splinter's eyes went around the circle, his gaze thoughtful. "Perhaps I should have spoken to you all sooner, Raphael included. But truly," he said, shaking his head sadly, "I have not known what to say."

At that admission, the Turtles did look at one another. Even Leonardo looked uneasy now, all of them realizing that this was not going to be a standard lecture on the sins of Raph-Baiting, but one of those rare sessions in which Splinter had something profound to impart.

"You must not abandon one another," Splinter told them with unusual intensity. "Especially in this. You are unique, the four of you. _Unique._ There are no others of your kind anywhere. And one day you will feel that emptiness, for it has no remedy. There are no mates for you. None. And your lives will be lonely..." Splinter's voice trailed off into the quiet. His hands and chin were resting on the stick he'd used to poke at the fire and now he stared into the blaze, losing himself in a deep meditation.

The silence around the fire was absolute.

"Master Splinter?" Leonardo asked quietly, after exchanging glances with both his brothers. "Have you...have you been lonely?" They had likely never given that question a thought before. It probably had never occurred to them.

It took a moment, but Splinter smiled slowly. "There have been times," he answered. "But the four of you have made it bearable." He put genuine warmth and affection in the tone. He loved them. And it was true. He did not think he would have survived the loneliness in the sewers without them.

"But - " Michelangelo protested again. "- you think, like, they're maybe...like in _love?"_

Splinter sighed and shrugged. "I do not know what else to call it. It is something - something with no easy resolution. They have been avoiding it themselves. Both of them. They know, I think, they understand that there are difficulties, but Shredder has sent them together through fire, and bonds so forged are not lightly shaken. I do not know how to define it. Nor do I know how to guide them through it."

There was still deep confusion there in Michelangelo's eyes. Doubtless he was thinking about all the flowers, and all the other silliness that he'd dealt out that direction himself, without a single truly serious thought behind it.

"Raphael needs you all," Splinter went on after another moment. "Even he does not realize how much. Right now he is too preoccupied, trying to work it all out for himself. He and Megan McLaine must come to their own peace. Their own compromise. For, as with any such companions that come along, a compromise is the best any of you can ever hope to achieve. They are _both_ suffering, in the event that you haven't noticed that either. She feels deeply for Raphael, and I do not know if that is fortunate or not. It pains them both. Do not make it more difficult for them. Remember that Raphael is your brother. And remember too, that in this, you are _all_ as vulnerable as he is." There was a further quiet.

Michelangelo shifted where he sat. "But-"

"I am hearing 'but' too often." Splinter interrupted, reminded in that moment of a time he had said the same thing to Raphael. "I would like you all to think about it, that is all. And to mind your manners in future. Raphael has been, for Raphael, exceedingly patient with some of you." He rose to his feet. There was not going to be any discussion or meditation about it as long as he was present. He had given the Turtles quite a lot to think about...the quiet around the fire went on.

Splinter nodded to himself. There would be a changed attitude toward Raphael and Megan henceforth. Perhaps too changed...he would have to speak to Raphael as well, try to discover just what Raphael had or hadn't managed to conclude about the girl - and he would have to do it soon.

Raphael would know that something had been said, and Raphael intensely disliked being talked about. Especially, Splinter thought, especially in the matter of Megan McLaine.

"And Michelangelo," he added as he turned to leave, deciding that he ought to lighten the mood a little bit.

"Master?"

"Please make certain that your marshmallows are extinguished before you try to eat them this time." Michelangelo's eyes widened in embarrassment...he evidently hadn't thought that Splinter had heard about it. As a rule, Splinter missed very little, although he sometimes feigned ignorance of things that the Turtles would have preferred him not to know. Putting a burning object into one's mouth was not an intelligent thing to do, and a trained ninja ought to know better...

"Promise." Michelangelo replied weakly.

Nodding, Splinter retreated into the darkness, satisfied that he hadn't diverted their attention terribly far from the original topic.

Donatello would normally have snickered wickedly at the well intentioned admonition, but he hadn't uttered a sound, and neither had Leonardo. Splinter had never talked to them about _girls_ before; Splinter was diverted himself...he had never actually expected that he would have to talk to the Turtles about _girls_. He trusted only that they would not misconstrue what he'd said, and go out looking for some. He would have to follow up with another lecture about the hazards of dealing with humans. They had been lucky with those they had had the fortune to encounter thus far - excepting Shredder, of course.

But there were still consequences -

April was always in danger, in large part because she knew them, and was a way and a means to them, should Shredder ever decide to exercise that option. To date, he had not, pursuing his own, more insidious and - Splinter guessed - self-satisfying path.

One day however, Shredder would tire of that, and be more direct.

Meeting the Turtles had proven dire indeed, for the Marshalls and for Megan McLaine. There had been division in that family unit before, but not the death and the suffering that Shredder had brought down upon their heads as a consequence of the meeting. Doctor Marshall had lost her life. Megan's was changed forever. Professor Marshall was, according to April, now a broken man. And whatever fate had befallen the Marshall twins, Splinter was reluctant even to guess at.

All of their future dealings with humans would have to be minimized. It wouldn't be easy, now that the humans were, to some degree, aware of their presence.

They would have to go deeply to ground and wait out the publicity.

When the media attention died, most of the humans would forget, or cease to care about the mysterious creatures in their city, but there would always be those few who would be tenacious, and would dog the sewers for them.

The Turtles were gregarious and outgoing. It would be hard for them.

They lived and played in the sewers, the sewers had always been safe for them, were their world, where humans seldom intruded. They had become quite accustomed to the freedom and the selected company.

The bricks, Splinter thought, were going to have to stay in place, maybe for a long time.

 _I should not be talking to them, about companions that may happen along...they will get ideas._

He wondered if he had made a mistake, and decided the next lecture would have to be a good one.

He was wandering aimlessly, found himself on the path toward the pond. That was likely where Raphael had taken himself to reflect, or to sulk or to think whatever thoughts were currently plaguing him.

He hoped that Raphael wasn't sitting on the bottom of the pond again, having discovered that to be a great place to avoid _everyone_. As a Turtle, he could get away with it, could hold his breath, sitting quietly, for up to thirty-five minutes, if he deliberately hyperventilated first. Megan had put them all onto that trick. He thought he might go and talk to Raphael there at the pond, but Megan McLaine was also unaccounted for at the moment, and he did not wish to intrude on any conversation that might already be in progress.

The girl had sense, would take his own advice to heart and talk to Raphael and she would likely do it soon. Summer was coming to a close.

She had to make her own decisions, had to chose a direction to go herself.

Splinter would miss her, when she went. He liked the girl a great deal himself...

Splinter heaved a sigh. It had been easy, when the Turtles had all been small and there hadn't been much to consider or to deal with beyond keeping body and soul together...their world had been small and simple, well-ordered and comfortable and now -

There was no cricket song, suddenly, he realized, pricking up his ears. Things had gone silent and he wondered if he had made a noise that might so disturb the insects -

It was the thought in his mind when the dart hit him, a piercing bite to the shoulder that drew a startled exclamation from him. It was all he had time for...it was a fast-acting tranquilizer. His muscles went first, and then his vision. There was time for one single thought to form in his mind, but the horror didn't catch up to it before the darkness took him.

It was...

 _Oroku Saki..._

~o~

Raphael was sitting alone on the rotting boards of the pond dock, and he had been almost since he'd left the campfire. He had, in one single day, heard more than enough comments about _weeds_ to last him the rest of his _life..._

He'd dived into the pond, had thought he would go to the bottom and sulk for awhile, but had decided it wouldn't help very much. Besides, it was cold and dark at the bottom of the pond and the view was much nicer up here.

And so he was still sitting there alone on the rotting boards of the pond dock when Meg came and dropped down beside him wordlessly, settling herself on the splintering wooden surface carefully and then dipping her toes into the water alongside his.

"Hi," she said after a long moment. "Nice night."

He thought so. The western sky was still pink and violet, darkening into midnight blue and black, sprinkled with stars the like of which were never seen in New York City. A thin crescent moon was set low toward the horizon among the stars. The air was still hot and humid though, and it was particularly dark in the east, where the stars were already obscured by the thunderheads of another storm.

"Gonna rain again later," he replied, without looking at her. "Can feel it in the air."

"Bad one too," she added. "Coming in from the east. That's not usual this time of year."

"Wouldn't know about that."

"Long way from the sewers, huh? So..." she said slowly. "So...tell me something you do know about."

He wasn't sure just what to say. There was too much. Or not enough.

He'd run out on her the other night, right there in that very spot - he had turned and dived back to the bottom of the pond, and then he had stayed there, confused and afraid because Meg had looked into his eyes and touched him on the cheek and touched him on the shoulder and she had scared him witless in doing it -

Megan had been confused and afraid too.

She'd been gone when he'd finally come up again. Raphael had finished up with the bath alone, had cleaned up after himself and then spent the entire night and nearly all of the next day thinking about it. He had avoided Megan, had avoided Splinter and had most definitely avoided every one of his brothers, the whole while having kept a careful eye out for them. He would not, he vowed, would not be caught like that again.

He'd heard her coming up behind him on the dock, and had felt a mild panic. He'd tried to swallow it, had not turned around to acknowledge her presence, hadn't even dared to look at her, not yet. She had scared him, and still scared him. Scared him in a way he'd never imagined he _could_ be scared-

Raphael turned to look at her, finding her gaze intense and full of something unreadable.

"Know I'm getting tired of talking about the weather all the time," he answered. But lately, it had seemed to be the only safe topic. One thing that didn't start arguments. "I know that I'm tired of fighting with you for no good reason." He was also tired of providing all the entertainment for his brothers, but he didn't say that aloud because he hadn't yet defined to his own satisfaction what it was all about. "Sorry I left you all alone the other night. Guess I should apologize for all that."

The intense look softened. "No. You don't have to do that."

"I'm not real good at apologies."

She shrugged. "So, I'm not real good at fighting either."

"Oh, no-" he countered. "You're good at everything, Meg!"

"No I'm not!" Meg flushed with embarrassment at the assessment.

"Yes you are!" Raphael had never met anyone like her, not even April. Meg _knew_ everything. Meg _understood_ everything, She was like Splinter in some ways, like Leo in others. She was -

"We're fighting again." She informed him in a flat, deadpan tone.

He stared at her for a minute, realizing that she was right. They had been starting another argument.

She broke into a giggle. "You know, if I thought I could do it," she told him, mock-seriously, "I'd push you right off this dock." She was still smiling as she shouldered him playfully.

Raph caught himself grinning, and wondered when he had started to laugh. "But you won't," he told her, trying to figure out how she could make him do that so very easily. "Because you can't."

Her features went back to the unreadable expression. She was slow to reply. "No," she said softly. "Because I don't want to."

Raphael turned slowly to look at her again. His eyes caught and held hers for a long moment. Nothing witty or sarcastic came to mind, and even if it had he didn't think he could have found the will to voice it - there was something very arresting about the way she was looking at him - something that...

Something that he had been avoiding.

"Nice to know - " he heard himself mumble, feeling awkward and enchanted all at the same time.

She looked down, smiling faintly. Megan kicked at the water absently, then moved her foot over until it touched his. "I think," she said slowly, "That there a few things we'd better talk about, Raph."

He knew it. He was caught in it and had been for some time. At least since the crocodile pool, and probably before that, although he'd been too busy to notice. He knew where the conversation was going, or he hoped that he knew. Warmth stole over him. Warmth accompanied by an odd, but pleasant internal quivering. "Such as?" he asked weakly.

Megan pulled her feet up out of the water and shifted on the dock, turning to face him on her knees. "Raph," she said. "I think you know that I like you. I like you a lot."

He didn't have a response for that. He had known it, with an absolute kind of certainty. But hearing her say it paralyzed him. He found energy enough to nod mutely, still holding her gaze.

"More than I probably should," she went on into the silence. "But you already know that too." A note of sadness had crept into the tone that she used now.

Raphael nodded again. "Uh-huh." The sadness was infectious...it touched him too closely, winding into the quivering and tying him into knots.

She reached up and tugged at the back of his mask gently. He'd been swimming before she'd come along and it was still wet enough to resist the pull until he leaned over slightly, inclining his head until it came off into her hand. He blinked, straightening again, and not even caring that this was as close as he ever came to a state of undress around humans...not as if it was the first time he'd been without it in her presence anyway. It just wasn't important. Not at all, not right now.

Meg folded it once, and hung it on a nail sticking out of the dock piling beside her.

"You have the nicest eyes, Raph."

He wanted to melt. "Mike says that they're beady," he said inanely.

"Michelangelo," she replied with a smile, "is sometimes an ass."

There was no malice in the statement. It was simply a banal response to his own remark. Michelangelo was one of the last things either of them had on their minds. Still she was looking at him with that strange intentness.

"Sometimes..." his voice faded into the silence. The sense of enchantment deepened.

 _"Raphael -"_ Megan whispered his name, the three syllables becoming a song in the way that she said it. He couldn't guess how long they had been looking at one another; time seemed suspended. "Raphael - you make me wish that I was a Turtle - " Her hand came up again and this time her fingers came to touch his nose ever so softly.

Her fingertips were warm against the cooler skin of his snout and she moved them lightly, tracing a slow line from one mottled spot there to the next, then letting them rest for one brief instant right on the tip of his nose. Then her arm dropped back into her lap.

It was the closest thing to a kiss that he'd ever experienced, or that was what he imagined a kiss must be like. So different, oh so very _different_ from anything that April had ever planted on any of them, that one small caress that had both electrified and immobilized him and stopped his whole world from turning. The knots inside tightened to a painful ache, one that he knew was always, always going to be there.

One of his hands had found hers lying there in her lap and tightened around them, just one enough to enclose both of hers. He felt the warmth there, another difference between them that wasn't going to change. Simple biology had never seemed such a yawning chasm before. He read that in her eyes, the source of the sad note that he'd heard. She knew it and so did he, but still it struck him, impossibly, as insignificant because what he felt for Megan _wasn't_ a physical attraction...he 'd overheard her telling Michelangelo that the hormones were all wrong, and that much was true - it had been wonderful, that gossamer touch on the nose. He was certain that he wouldn't have turned down a repeat performance, but it wasn't what he was yearning for, wasn't the basis for the depth of the emotional need she had somehow managed to fill. He hadn't even been aware before that there had existed such a gap in his life.

He simply did not want her ever to go away, even if she never laid another finger on him.

Megan had somehow become absolutely essential for him, and it had happened a long time before that gentle, tentative touch - that was how he knew that it was real.

Raphael closed his eyes, but the pain didn't go away. He leaned toward her and then found his head pressed into her shoulder and one of her arms hugging him with an unexpected strength. Slowly, very slowly, the knots loosened, and the ache faded, tempered with the same deep and profound sorrow for the differences that they would never be able to bridge.

 _You make me wish that I was a Turtle..._

She had meant it. It was the real thing for her too.

 _"_ I love you too, Meg," he heard himself whisper back, astonished by how easily the words had come and how much better he felt for having said them. Raphael spent another timeless moment inside the embrace, willing it to last, fixing the feelings securely in his memory so that he would never, ever lose them.

Finally he pulled himself back to look at her directly again. "So now what do we do?" He picked up one of her hands and placed it resolutely back onto his nose.

There were tears in her eyes, but she smiled anyway, blinking them back. "My mother..." she began, pulling in a deep breath. "...my mother never warned me about someone like you. I don't suppose you'd turn into a handsome prince if I kissed you," she asked.

"No," he sighed sadly. "I don't suppose I would." All the same, Raphael found himself wishing that he had a proper set of lips.

"Not much left to do then." Megan rubbed his snout playfully, then took his face between both hands and pressed her nose to his. The spell had been broken, but they had said all the important things they'd needed to. It was all said. Said and settled. Not over, just...acknowledged and as settled as much as it probably ever would be.

He wasn't sure it was enough...the confusion had subsided, the ache was subdued - but she was still going to go away. Then Megan lifted his chin and she did plant a kiss there on his nose, of the same suddenly disappointing sort that April might have. "Guess we could always pick some weeds."

Raphael groaned. "Not you too! Com'on Meg, I - "

"Just kidding." She looked up as thunder rolled with a flickering of lightning, the storm approaching rapidly. "Com'on," she said, pulling him to his feet. "Those brothers of yours have enough to gossip about already." She squeezed his hand one more time, but her eyes communicated more. They always would now, he supposed.

She started back up the short dock, while he paused to retrieve his mask and slip it back on, adjusting it as he followed. He looked up.

Now where had Meg gone? She'd been right there in front of him a second ago and -

Something struck the side of Raph's head hard, an attack so swift and sudden that he wondered for just an instant what had happened. He went to his knees under the blow, dazed, uncomprehending. He shook his head and looked up through a blaze of dancing lights.

 _"Raphael."_ Shredder greeted him with dangerous softness. "I have remembered your name, _Raphael."_

Raphael scarcely had time to register shock before the long bo struck again, and sent him spiralling down into black oblivion...

~o~

It was too easy. All of it, was just too easy. Shredder had anticipated far more difficulty in taking the mutants, far more than his forces had met with to this point, here on the farm tonight. The things were not even armed, and this Turtle had been paying even less attention than had the Rat, when they had taken it, just a few minutes ago, as it had wandered into range of the tranquilizer gun with its head bowed in thought. They had been downwind of it and had waited, in silent patience, for the thing to approach. He had not expected such laxity on the Rat's part, had thought rather that its senses might be keener than that.

"Secure the creature." Shredder looked down at Raphael's unmoving bulk and prodded the ugly green shell with one toe as his warriors came, bringing the heavy chains and the manacles that would be more than sufficient to hold it...they had had the time to study Leonardo, and had come up with a restraint that these creatures would not be able to worm their way out of.

There were shackles to secure the Turtle's ankles together, separated by only a few links of iron. The thing would not be able to walk, though it might be able to balance on its toes awkwardly. Its wrists also were similarly joined, with just enough length of chain for its elbows to be drawn back and pulled around the ends of a stout iron bar that went behind its shell to tighten the chain between its wrists and pin its arms flat to its belly. It looked like it might be painful.

Shredder did not care.

There were heavy brass locks on each shackle, and two on the bar, locking another chain across the creature's back so that the chain could not be slipped free. Raphael wasn't going anywhere.

Shredder turned his attention to the girl. She had walked right into their grasp again, just as she had at the quarantine building. His men had taken her silently, smothering an astonished outcry to bind her swiftly and noiselessly, in spite of the underbrush. Raphael had been none the wiser although the capture had taken place scarcely twenty feet from that excuse for a dock. He would remember to commend those warriors. It had been well executed.

The girl was still struggling, helplessly suspended between two Foot. Handcuffs were more than enough to render her powerless. There was fright in the motion, panic and wild dismay in her eyes. Her gaze went to the Turtle as the men heaved it un-gently over onto its shell once the chains were in place. They stepped back, awaiting his further instructions. He had been surprised, when his spies had returned to the city to report the girl alive...he had honestly believed her dead, that night at the zoo. He still found it hard to imagine, that the creatures had somehow found the time to resuscitate the girl under those circumstances.

 _Full of surprises_. That was one thing the mutants always were. Tonight, for a change, the surprises had mostly been pleasant ones. The mutants were inattentive, careless and unarmed. They obviously had felt themselves safe in rural seclusion. They had dared to relax in their overconfidence. He would benefit by it.

Shredder would take them all, this time.

He did not speak to the girl, but he stared at her until the struggles ceased and she shrank into quiet under the steady gaze. "Take them to the farmhouse," he instructed. "Put them with the Rat."

The comment elicited a startled reaction. The girl's mouth moved silently. Anxiety grew in her eyes, hopelessness. Splinter was probably the best they had, and the Rat had been the first to fall. He gave her that information in the remark and drew more from her transparent response. Megan McLaine was afraid. The hopeless look told him that the others were no more prepared to meet an unexpected enemy than Raphael had been. It put a smile on his face. But he warned himself against overconfidence. Those lessons he had already learned.

He accepted the keys for the brass padlocks, watched as his Foot moved off with their prisoners. He pulled out the keyring, paused for a moment to consider the two padlock keys already dangling there. They fit the locks that had been used to secure the Rat. On a whim, he removed them from the ring, replaced them with the six that locked Raphael's shackles, one for each manacle and two for the iron bar. Those he returned to his pocket.

Lightning flickered again in the east. There would be rain soon. He trusted that the rest of the Turtles would be found and taken before it began. He was hoping too, that the rain would do something to ease the heat and the humidity. His _dogi_ was clinging, damp with sweat and uncomfortable. The air was thick and cloying, far different from the climate-controlled comforts he was accustomed to. He did not often go out. Shredder's fingers tightened around the two keys. Splinter would be uncomfortable too...its shackles were also tight. Well, the Rat could enjoy its discomfort, he decided. Shredder spun and hurled the keys towards the pond, irrationally satisfied by the two small splashes that they made as they hit the water. The duplicates were back in New York, locked in his own personal security vault. His enemies were not going to escape him tonight.

 _Especially,_ he thought, with smug gratification. _Most especially, the Rat..._

~o~

Things had stayed quiet around the fire for a long time after Splinter left the Turtles to it. Donatello had fidgeted uncomfortably, watching Leo and Mike with quick and repeated glances for their reactions. He was feeling pretty damn foolish himself. Michelangelo just looked confused. Leo had lost the annoyance...Splinter had, after all, vindicated him. They should have been paying more attention. He and Mike had deserved the earful that Splinter had spared them from Leonardo. They might get it yet...Leo had his brows drawn together, was looking pensive. He happened to look up at the same instant that Don glanced at him.

Donatello shrugged at him in apology. "Ummm. Hey, Leo-" he began. "I guess we-"

"Nah-forget it. Don't suppose that it matters much anymore." Leonardo got up to his feet. "I gotta go think about this - it's pretty...you know, heavy-duty."

"Uh-yeah. Wait up for ya?"

"Don't bother. Might be awhile with this one. Gonna practice for a bit, I think. Don't burn your lips, Mikie."

Michelangelo heaved an exasperated sigh of his own. "I won't burn my lips. Promise." Mike replied sullenly. He was too distracted for a sharper retort. "Don't get lost in the woods."

"Not a chance. Stay out of trouble, huh?" Leo moved off into the darkness with that little bit of brotherly advice, moving in the direction of the farmhouse, going to fetch his _katana_ if he really was intending to practice. It was going to rain, and Don doubted very much that Leo truly wanted to do sword exercises in the rain. Donatello grunted a farewell that went unacknowledged, and picked up the stick he'd been peeling of bark in the first place. Mike retrieved the marshmallows, ripped open the bag and started to eat them raw. Mike always ate when he was agitated.

"Want a stick for those Mikie?" Don inquired.

"No thanks. Can't burn my lips this way."

"Guess not." Don refrained from further comment on that subject. "Do you feel stupid? I feel stupid."

Michelangelo cast him a sidelong glance. "Meg and Raph? Seriously?"

"Seriously. Raph is always serious. Should have figured it out a long time ago."

"He never did like those flowers very much."

"I don't think it was the flowers."

"Just the source."

"Nah. just the idea. Probably wished it'd been his."

"Suppose so. Marshmallow?" Mike offered him the bag. Donatello helped himself to a handful. "Yeah, thanks."

"Think she'll move in with us?"

"I kinda thought she already had." Don extended his stick out toward the fire, getting the marshmallows just close enough to toast them lightly. He didn't much care for them burned all black the way Mike did.

Don didn't really think that Megan had any intention of moving in with them on a permanent basis. She had talked about going back to school, had resources somewhere to tap, money that her father had left to her and which was in a bank account up in Canada. She had some vague future planned outside of the country...

He wasn't sure either, how many details of her plans to emigrate she had mentioned to Raphael, and now was figuring out why. She didn't want to hurt him. Maybe, just maybe, if what Splinter had said was she didn't _want_ to leave herself. He thought about it. The whole thing got very complicated, very fast.

 _Nope,_ _no fireworks from Raph._...he was so tangled up in the complications he couldn't even muster a snappy comeback, let alone verbal pyrotechnics.

April would never allow Megan to move into the sewers anyway and she would frown very deeply on anything that even remotely approached A Relationship. Although, it was a fair question as to whether or not April could do anything about it if Megan decided to. Megan's own mother hadn't kept her out of the sewers the first time, but then again, the circumstances had been different. The emotional involvement hadn't been there and there hadn't been anything long-term in it at the time. He was rather amazed that Splinter didn't seem to mind. He was also a little bit relieved...what if he met someone someday and then -

 _It is a crisis you will all face..._

Mike sighed. "I didn't think Raph was the type, you know, like to fall? Not like that."

"He is." Donatello said, thinking just how right Splinter had been on that account. He ran through a list of Raph's all-time favorite movies and books...epic fantasies, every one of them, complete with heroes and villains and dragons and damsels in distress. Action and adventure and other things that were, on reflection, a little too much like the way they happened to have been living in the recent past.

Raphael was a romantic tragedy just waiting to happen. Of course Raph fell first.

Raph did almost everything first.

It was all so obvious. Right there under their snouts.

"You really feel stupid?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

"Hmmm. Me too." Mike finally admitted.

"Thought so. Want a toasted marshmallow?"

There was a noise, right then, that Don couldn't identify. But it was followed instantly by a strangled sound from Michelangelo, a kind of choking, gurgling noise that alarmed him immediately. Donatello's gaze whipped around, something was wrong, something was -

Something bit him on the elbow...it felt like a bee-sting and his other hand came around to swat at whatever it was and hit something much bigger than an insect, something that felt just like the dart that he saw was lodged in Mike's throat. Horror crawled up his spine, a creeping cold that spread as his perceptions went suddenly askew. He lurched to his feet, swayed unsteadily there. Mike was toppling backward off the log, his eyes were rolled up, showing white, just like Leo's had that time when -

His vision went double. Mike was toppling in slow motion. His own feet felt like lead. The double image spun on a vertical axis, resolved itself to singularity again. Donatello took a tottering step forward/backward, saw his own arm coming up, outstretched and impossibly long, seemingly detached and reaching for Michelangelo. It was important, to reach Michelangelo. He didn't know why, couldn't find the reason. Gravity tugged at him. The ground rose up to slap his outstretched arm. Grass tickled his nose and he wondered how had it grown so tall -

 _Didn't. I just fell down..._

The thought was lucid but very short-lived. He blinked, long and slow. His vision went double one more time, began to rotate. His muscles would not obey commands to move. Sensation fled. Donatello blinked again. It was getting very dark around the peripheries of his sight. He sighed out Michelangelo's name and the syllables stretched off and into infinity. After that there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

~o~


	13. True Forces - Chapter 11

**True Forces Chapter Eleven**

It was approval. Splinter was actually _sanctioning_ it!

And that confused Leonardo altogether, He'd thought that he'd had it all figured out, had thought that he'd had the whole Megan/Raphael scenario mapped out in his head. He had dissected it, had taken it apart - he'd thought about it, from the very beginning when he'd first been hurt, had worked through the likeliest course of things when he'd been absent, had recalled and re-thought everything he'd seen when they'd escaped Shredder and had watched carefully for every tell-tale once he'd realized that Raphael was in it over his head.

Raph would have been upset, to put it mildly, _lost_ , when he'd been harpooned like that. Raph always pretended otherwise but he leaned heavily on all his brothers, consciously or not. It was something that Leo had realized only after his own rescue, just how much they all leaned _his_ direction _for_ direction. When Shredder's harpoon had taken him down, both Don and Mike had automatically turned to Raph for leadership because he and Raph between them were the two dominant personalities of their foursome - and Raphael was the sort to take the responsibility, in spite of the fact that he was so ill-suited to it.

Raph was great at taking care of himself...but he was a dreadful leader, because he didn't ever plan anything. Raph operated on whim, instinct and a short fuse. To be effective, Raphael needed the balance that Leo usually was for him - there had been a void for Raph, when he'd been injured and captive. One that had been filled, almost immediately, with Megan McLaine - a girl that was smart and sane and sensible and who had provided that balance, whether or not anyone had realized it.

Things had happened quickly, too. Doctor Marshall had been killed, leaving Megan with an enormous emotional gap in her life. Raph had taken responsibility for her, had moved heaven and earth trying to save her life, had suffered unreasonably while she'd been ill. Raph had probably _liked_ her from the very start. Leonardo hadn't been able to decide just when the _like_ had crossed over into _love_ , or just when Raph had become aware of it, but Mike and those stupid daisies seemed to have brought it to the surface.

Leo had thought too, very carefully, about where the whole thing was likely to go. His conclusion had been _practically nowhere._

Leonardo had also decided that that had to have been Raph's conclusion as well. Ever since Raphael had discovered that he was in love with Megan, Raph hadn't done a damn thing about it, nothing except to sit on it and stew and pine and brood and argue with everyone, including Megan. Raph hadn't done anything to discourage Michelangelo's open and good-natured pursuit of the girl's attentions, even though it had bothered Raph to no end, because -

\- because if Raph _had_ interfered, Raph would have had to own up to whatever his own feelings were in the matter...and Leo wasn't at all convinced that Raphael even understood it, beyond the undeniable recognition of the fact. Raphael just had to know, had to have figured it out by now that it couldn't work out, not in the long run, because Raph was a Turtle and Meg was a Human and that, on the bottom line, was all there was to it.

Fall was going to come. Megan was going to leave, go off to school in a foreign, presumably safe country and whatever was in Raph's head about her would cool down and sort itself out into some kind of proper perspective. Raphael was waiting, that was all. He was sitting it out, however uncomfortably.

Things _would_ go back to normal. Megan would be their friend, just like April and Casey, and not the object of anybody's misdirected affections, not Mike's or Raph's.

That, at least, _had_ been Leo's assessment of the whole thing. Splinter had just taken it, turned it over and thrown a whole different light on the entire matter. Splinter excelled at that sort of thing, and now Leo needed some time alone to rework all of his previous assumptions.

He'd give an awful lot of thought to Raphael's side of the equation. He hadn't given a fraction of it to Megan's.

Megan liked them all. She had never, to his knowledge, played favorites. She had tolerated the attentions from Michelangelo with a very non-serious sort of understanding. If Splinter was right, and she felt anything deep for Raphael like Raphael felt for her, then she'd done a damned good job of keeping it to herself. Although, there _had_ been that time when she'd been calling them all by Raph's name...not Mike's and not Don's, though she'd known them all just as long and likely just as well at that point. And if she really felt something like Raph did, then...well - Leo shook his head. She'd been away from real people for too long if she was seriously considering any one of them for anything non-platonic.

He'd been really annoyed with Don and Mike. Almost annoyed enough to have told them outright to leave Raph be, but then they would have become suspicious and figured it out for themselves and then the teasing would have become utterly merciless. Tonight the warning had come from Splinter, carrying the weight of his authority. There would still be some teasing to come, but it would be tame and subdued, he didn't doubt. And if Leo didn't like it, he _would_ say something. Might anyway. Might just -

Someone had left a light on in the farmhouse. Leo frowned, trying to recall who'd been the last one out. Didn't matter, he'd turn it off himself, get his _katana_ and head for the barn. There was a storm coming, and the clearing he preferred for practice purposes was farther than he wanted to go. He didn't want to be caught out in the rain because then he'd have to clean and oil the swords again. Leo was just about to round the corner of the house when he heard a footstep on the porch.

 _Damn. Someone's home._

He didn't feel like talking to anyone either, especially not Raphael or especially not Megan. He had too much thinking to do on that tandem subject and one or both of them would wonder about the look on his face if they caught sight of him. So. Well. Leo glanced up the clapboard and reached out to test the relative strength of the old trellis there before he scaled it noiselessly to the roof over the porch. There was more to the art of ninja than just swordplay. It only took him a moment to get into his room, gather his _katana_ and creep out onto the roof again. Leo paused at the edge to peer over, checking to see if the coast was clear -

\- and very nearly fell off with the shock...

 _Foot Clan!_

Leo plastered himself to the wall, sought a shadow fast.

But it was true. There were several ninja of the Foot Clan there on the porch and more of them on the lawn. And those ones had Master Splinter hanging unconscious between them, tightly bound.

 _No! No, that just isn't possible...how had they gotten here?! How many of them?! And -_

 _\- just where was Shredder?!_

Questions crowded his thoughts. His heart was beating double time.

 _They've got Splinter again! They've got Splinter!_

His gaze cast about for a darkened route down. He had to get to his brothers, had to warn them, had to find Raphael. He didn't even know where Megan was or might have been...

He was swearing silently - they weren't armed, any of them! He turned, had a notion to get all their weapons out of their rooms, but lights began to come on throughout the house. There was a search in progress -

He would not be caught by it. Quickly Leo rounded the corner of the porch roof, got himself back down into the overgrowth along the clapboard close to the foundation, he had to find -

Another group of Foot arrived. With Megan this time. And with Raphael...

 _Worse and worse!_

Leonardo went for the path, had to get back to Donatello and Michelangelo. The farm was _crawling_ with Foot. He'd been lucky, oh _damn_ , but he'd been lucky to have gotten all the way to the farmhouse without running into any of them because they were _everywhere_...he hadn't been paying attention. Not a whit. Had been completely wrapped up in what Splinter had said - like his brothers were...

Damned distracting topic there tonight. Damned and dangerously distracting. Leo drew his thoughts together, cast them outwards, tried to get a mental warning through, the fastest way to communicate he knew. But there was nothing, no response. Don and Mike weren't tuned in, they couldn't be, or else they - or they'd already been taken too. Anxiety began to knot up in his belly. There was no way to contact April and Casey...there were no phones here, nothing. He _had_ to get back to his brothers, had to get there first! He considered bolting for it, tossing caution to the wind in favor of speed. Stealth slowed him down. But the caution paid off, at least insofar as it kept him invisible.

Another, larger group of Foot had shown up ahead of him, were moving in the direction of the farmhouse again.

Dragging Donatello and Michelangelo along with them.

Leonardo swallowed hard. He melded deeply into the brush, found a tree and put his shell up against it, sat down and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees to stop the tremble that had begun to manifest itself in his limbs.

He was all alone...all alone and among Foot Clan again.

He knew what it meant, for Splinter and his brothers, and he had imagination enough to figure just what it might mean for Megan -

Leo recalled all the tests and the needles, recalled all too vividly the heartache and the helplessness.

Shredder didn't mean to kill them, any of them, not yet.

Those Foot had carried guns...had to be tranquilizer guns. Just about everyone had been bound - there would have been no need for the bindings if The Foot had been shooting to kill. There was still a chance...

Capture and testing was not a fate he would abandon any one of them to, let alone all of them. It didn't matter that he was alone again among Foot Clan.

Leonardo was far from helpless, this time. He pulled his _katana_ from their sheathes, knew that the storm coming was going to be an advantage for him. If he could just somehow intercept April and Casey on the way back from town...

Leo began to make _plans -_

~o~

Shredder had been mildly surprised to see the Rat conscious when he finally mounted the steps and crossed the threshold into the old farmhouse and turned the corner into what passed for the living room. Quick metabolism, he supposed.

Neither had he expected to see such a change in the Rat. He had expected the half-starved and withered creature that they had imprisoned last year, a creature bent with age and bony under a greying coat of dull and patchy fur.

It was difficult even to credit the differences in the thing that was restrained here now before him.

This Rat was sleek, well groomed, and possessed of a pelt of deep chestnut streaked with silver. The gray was gone and so was that wretched mouse brown shade. Nor was it emaciated. It had put some meat onto its bones and it was sitting straight, its arthritic posture a thing of the past. It looked lithe and toned. Its eyes were bright and sharp and regarding him now with intelligent, dangerous intent.

Shredder approached it, his own eyes closing to slits and his hand raised, ready to strike the insolent glare from the Rat's features. He was only two feet away when the Rat reacted to the threat.

Splinter hissed, baring sharp, white teeth, throwing whiskers and ears forward as the fur behind its neck came up in a threatening display to counter his own striking poise. It was effective, at that close range.

Shredder recoiled, a purely involuntary reaction on a primal level that halted him in mid-stride and sent a flood of adrenaline into his blood. A quick chill ran across his skin, making the sweat there clammy, a sensation as unpleasant as the cloying humidity had been. Fright, sudden and unexpected, immobilized him as the Rat hissed again, and followed it with a throaty, high-pitched growl. Shredder was not at all accustomed to fear, and this one affected him deeply, for this was the creature that had marred him in the distant past, and then surfaced, transformed, years later and tossed him from a rooftop. When it had been weak and starving, it had done that and had very nearly killed him. Memories of the flailing descent, the jarring impact and of crushing suffocation pulsed vividly through his mind, all of that tailed by an even deeper fear of what this prime specimen must have the capacity to do.

It only lasted an instant, then rage overwhelmed it, all the more intense because he could see that Splinter had known it. The Turtle nearby was growling too, its voice a low counterpoint to the Rat's.

"Yes," the Rat spoke. "Fear me, Oroku Saki. You have cause."

"Do not threaten me, Rat!" Shredder spat back. "You are hardly in a position!" Shredder diverted the raised arm, taking the long stride necessary and brought the bladed fist down on Raphael's snout hard, catching just the tip of it with the double blades as the Turtle retracted its head in fast to evade the blow, giving it an irritating reminder of just who was in charge. "Silence, mutant! I dislike you enough already."

Shredder turned, pacing about the room, for the moment ignoring them all, composing himself once again, and cursing himself a fool to have allowed these things to unsettle him so. He went to the entranceway, consulted with one of the dogi-clad men there. That one bowed, and went. The other remained, standing guard. It would not be long, Shredder thought, before they brought the rest in. The Rat would learn, indeed it would, better than to incur the wrath of The Foot. However many lessons that would take - he turned back into the shambles of the one-time living room of farmhouse, narrowing his eyes as he leaned against the aged oak lintel of the doorframe and considered these three prisoners from a more comfortable distance.

The Rat he would deal with at a later date. Muzzle it, meanwhile. Confine it in isolation. Give it a video monitor and let it watch whatever he elected to do to its precious Turtles. Make it suffer on a level he hadn't had the means to tap when last it had been their prisoner. The thing _cared_ about these other creatures, and that was a very powerful lever.

One that would work just as well the other direction, Turtles to Rat. And, oddly enough, Turtle to Girl.

He regarded Megan McLaine for a long moment. _Whatever_ had she been contemplating down there by the pond with this ugly, green shell-backed monster? He wished he'd been close enough to overhear the conversation that had accompanied the gestures he'd had the fortune to witness, but they had been whispering when they had not been staring, moon-eyed, at one another. She couldn't be serious. Just not possible, he thought. She'd turn down the twins for this? Possibly it had been oxygen deprivation, before she'd been revived after drowning - the girl's brain must have been addled.

The Turtles themselves he knew to be emotionally driven, and they regularly cast themselves into hazard for one another, disregarding their own safety against the greatest of odds. Perhaps the thing had a crush on her, and she'd been letting it down gently. Had to be. He could hardly conceive of the alternative, and he was accustomed to all manner of vice and perversity...that was something The Foot relied on. Extortion and blackmail weren't possible without leverage either. She grew nervous under the steady gaze, wondering doubtless, just what he was contemplating, She recalled, he was certain, the feel of his blades, drawn lightly down her cheek - he had done it, that night, just to annoy the Turtle, and it had been effective. So, the thing had felt something for her even then, beyond a simple concern for a comrade and ally of chance and circumstance. He hadn't put it down to anything more than that, at the time.

He let his glance flick once to the Turtle. It was watching him very closely. Shredder shoved himself away from the lintel, and walked, with a casual swagger, over to the girl.

"You can hold your breath for a very long time, Miss McLaine," he commented, his best silken tone. "I had thought you drowned." He brushed a lock of hair back from her face with a light finger.

"I did," she replied sourly. "Thanks."

Insolence. Nervous response. "So. You were revived then. An experience that I..." he touched her cheek softly, "...would be interested to hear about." The Turtle was growling already. "In very great detail," he finished, suggestively, for Raphael's benefit. The noise level rose.

Shredder turned, meeting the fire in the Turtle's eyes, then sent a direct look to the Rat as he abandoned the amusement with the girl.

"Your Turtle is a fool, Rat," he said. "It gives me weapons. Or is it too great a fool to know that?"

The growling stopped abruptly, as if the Turtle had just realized it. And knew now that it had given something extremely valuable away. Had made a very great mistake. Raphael's gaze went to Megan, rich in mute apology and fear.

The Rat shrugged its narrow shoulders. "As you increase his arsenal, Oroku Saki. Or have you forgotten to what lengths you went for Tang Shen?"

Another blow to another deep and unhealed wound. The Rat _was_ some demon sent to torment him. He fought to control his rage, not to let the Rat score another point, but he found himself shaking in the effort and speechless.

"Have a care," Splinter warned him mildly. "Oroku Saki, you do not know with whom you are dealing. It is unwise to anger Raphael."

"You seek to shorten your life, Rat! Or one of theirs! Do not provoke me further!" Shredder let the anger he was feeling color his voice dangerously.

There was commotion in the front entranceway. Shredder spun, going to attend it, glad of the faceplate, because it concealed the snarl that he was having difficulty clearing from his face. That the Rat should even dare to mention -

 _Tang Shen_... It still hurt, after all these years.

It occurred to him now that the Rat had been there, had witnessed all that he'd said to Tang Shen before he'd lost his temper and killed her, and also that the Rat had total recall. It caused him a sudden acute embarrassment. He had not meant to kill Shen. It had only been Yoshi he'd sworn to kill.

A knot of Foot warriors had arrived on the front porch, bearing two of the Turtles, both unconscious, both with the tranquilizer darts still embedded in their green mutant hides. The snarl loosened into a smile. The orange-masked Turtle was one of them, hanging loosely in the grip of his warriors, its limbs dangling and its head slumped, exposing the throat where the dart had taken it. The other was wearing a mask of purple...Donatello then, from the information he had had of Professor Marshall. Only the one in the orange mask, then, remained nameless. Perhaps he would try to extract the information from his other prisoners, another entertainment to pass the time until they located the last one - it was Leonardo still at large.

Shredder nodded his pleasure at the group arriving. "Secure them. As the other. And then bring them in," he ordered. He stood back to watch, as the manacles and chains appeared, were fitted and locked into place. He accepted the keys for the padlocks, adding them to the large split ring he'd brought along for that very purpose. He alone would take responsibility for them. There were no duplicates on site. He was determined that there would be no escape for these captives. None.

He retreated into the farmhouse again. The wind had picked up, the lead edge of the thunder-squall bearing down on them. Rain began to spatter. Shredder cursed the weather. It would not make locating the remaining Turtle any easier. He checked the time. Miss O'Neil and her hood would be due back soon, from the dinner and the movie they had taken themselves off to in the nearby small town. They were tailed, of course. And Tatsu would see that they were brought in, Tatsu would, who was quite, quite unwilling to let the hood get away from him again. They would be here, soon enough, to join their friends.

He watched, carefully, for the reactions to cross his enemies' faces when the two newcomers were hauled in and dropped without ceremony on the floor of the living room, close to the fireplace.

Dismay from the girl, and sympathy. Anger, again anger, from the Turtle. Nothing. No reaction at all, from the Rat. "Their weapons?" Shredder inquired of the man standing behind him.

"None were with them, Master Shredder."

"Search the premises. Bring them here when they are found." Another bow, and the man vanished. Moments later there was noise from the other level, from the other rooms. His Foot warriors would trash the whole house, if necessary, to complete their mission. It did not take long. In another few minutes, there was a pile of ninja weaponry at his feet.

He looked at them. Sai, bo and nunchuku.

"Katana," he said. "Find them." Another search. Longer and fruitless. "Inform Tatsu. The last creature will be armed. Go."

Shredder's gaze came back into the room, searching faces there again. The Rat had put him into a very bad mood.

He paced, listening to the torrential downpour and high winds that made the whole of the old house creak and groan. Loose shutters banged against the outside walls. It added to his annoyance. He was patient. Tatsu came in a short time after he had sent the messenger out. Soaked to the skin but indifferent to the matter, he came to Shredder's side.

"There is no sign of the last Turtle." Tatsu reported. "Nor have its weapons been located. The search has been thorough."

"It must be found." Shredder stated.

Tatsu only shrugged. "The search continues," he replied. "The weather...hampers it."

Shredder nodded, not surprised by that.

He paced again, gave Tatsu the opportunity to scan their prisoners with satisfaction. Shredder neared the Rat, stood regarding it coldly for a long moment. "Where is Leonardo?" he asked bluntly. "And, yes, Rat. I do know its name," he added, for Splinter had looked somewhat surprised by that. "Allan Marshall had some limited uses. I am short on patience, as you well know, Splinter," it was the first time he addressed the Rat by name, reminding it of the beatings it had received last year. "And you would be well advised to tell me if you know."

He approached the two prostrate Turtles, knelt down between them. Raphael was growling once again. He prodded each of them.

"Tatsu," Shredder said, looking up. "Kill the girl if either of these interrupts me."

"Master Shredder," Tatsu inclined his head, moved within striking distance of Megan McLaine. One blow, just one, would break her neck.

The nameless one was under deep, the dart having struck a vulnerable spot and delivered its full dosage It may as well have been dead, for all the reaction he got out of it. Well, he would just save this one for later. He owed it a great deal. Shredder contemplated slow things for this Turtle.

Donatello, however, stirred slightly at the disturbance. Groaned once. Shredder's hand went to the dart. It was hanging loosely in the leather of the Turtle's elbow pad. The dart had either expended most its sedative into the padding, or the dart had pulled out of the creature's skin when it had fallen, reducing the dosage

The shot had been poor, or lucky, in this case, and Donatello was starting to come out of it already. Leonardo had been quite stupid, under the influence...

Shredder hauled the thing upright, balancing it against the mantle on its back shell.

It reacted, groaning again, and let its eyes flutter. Then it sighed, and settled, quiet, once more.

"Donatello," he addressed it by its name.

"Go 'way, Mikie," it muttered in reply. "Sleepin."

 _Mikie?_

Shredder glanced to the one in the orange mask. Mikie. Michael. He thought about the other Turtles and their names. Leonardo. Raphael. Donatello.

Would have bet that this one was really Michelangelo. How incredibly absurd.

"Donatello," he repeated. "Where's Leonardo?" He kept his voice even. Friendly. But he pinched it, to get its attention.

A second's startlement. Donatello opened its eyes and blinked at him blearily. There was a fleeting recognition there. "Huhnn? Bad dream," it concluded.

"Where's Leonardo?" Shredder asked again, insistent.

"Leo?" Donatello echoed. "Leo's gone." It slurred the reply, went all unfocused again. Useless reply. Vague and useless. Damn the creature!

"Gone where? Donatello - where did Leo go?"

The Turtle was almost under again. "Gone," it sighed, a long, slow exhalation. "Just gone..."

"Leo 's dead!" Megan McLaine burst out, in spite of Tatsu's towering presence. "You killed him goddammit! You didn't take care of him and - "

Almost instantly, Shredder had crossed the room and seized her by the front of her shirt, pulling her up to face the mask. "You are lying!"

She swallowed, under the heat of his gaze. "Leo's dead," she said again, more shakily, the brazen defiance withered. "You didn't take care of him. You took him off the IV. You didn't feed him and you didn't water him either. He was on antibiotics and you discontinued treatment."

"You escaped with Leonardo, well and alive!"

"Well and alive? Alive." It was all she granted of that assessment, "If you were taking Allan Marshall's word for well, then you were - "

He was still glaring at her.

"Sadly mistaken," she finished, more quietly. "He wouldn't know."

Shredder released her shirt, shoving her back into the chair. "You are still lying." But she had planted a doubt. They had not taken particularly good care of the Turtle. He had not been disposed to generosity, at the time.

"You took blood and tissue samples." Megan went on. "You did a spinal tap. All you did was take. You saw how we escaped. You were there. It was stress Leo couldn't afford. I didn't have any facilities. Or supplies. And the sewers..." her voice quavered. "The sewers aren't sterile..." Her voice trailed into silence.

It was both plausible and possible. All of what she had just said was true. And the scouts that they had sent out here to spy at the farm had never reported seeing more than three Turtles about. But he still believed she was trying to buy it time, trying to get him to call off the search for it. He credited her with a grudging admiration - she knew how to lie.

Intelligence and courage. He had ascertained that of her before. He was almost beginning to like the girl.

Shredder turned to the Rat, looking to see if it would support the story. Splinter returned his gaze steadily. "Truth, Rat?"

Splinter remained unperturbed. "Have I not already said you have cause to fear me?" Vague. Naturally. He had hardly expected the Rat to deny it.

A dogi-clad form appeared in the hallway. The warrior waited an instant and then beckoned to Tatsu when he had their attention. Tatsu dismissed himself with a nod, went to confer with the man. "They are coming," Tatsu returned to report, a moment later.

So, Miss O'Neil's van had been spotted on the road home. Time to net a few more prisoners. Shredder nodded, and Tatsu left with the messenger.

Ninja vanished, all around the vicinity of the house. The rain had eased to a steady patter. Foot warriors assumed their positions. Shredder made a quick circuit of the room, turning down all but one of the kerosene lamps. He moved into the shadows.

Shredder would welcome April O'Neil home himself.

~o~

It was fortunate that the road was so seldom used, April reflected, peering through the front windshield with annoyance. If the unpaved track leading to the farmhouse had been any less overgrown, it might have been a total washout. The weeds held the road in place.

She hated driving in these conditions, but the alternative was to let Casey have the wheel and he was more apt to want to pull over and make like a teenager until the storm had passed. There was some appeal the notion, but she didn't want to show up in the state of dishevelment that was too likely to result. The Turtles were too quick on that uptake...

Besides, she had already turned down his offer of a night out in the local cheap motel. Her family name was known in these parts. And cute or not, Casey still looked a touch too disreputable to take anywhere but a darkened theatre-house.

For once, it would have been nice to have had some lights left on in the farmhouse. But they had established The Rulebook on How Not To Attract Attention To April's Farmhouse and Splinter had seen to it that the Turtles obeyed it to the letter.

There were still crackpots combing the sewers for them back in New York. Certainly they didn't want any similar attention here.

"Sure you don't want me to drive?" Casey asked, for the fourth time.

She smiled. Casey would have lost them for sure by now. "Not much point now." They had just passed the leaning fencepost and the two apple trees. "We're back, in case you hadn't noticed." She skirted the van around two large puddles that she knew concealed the deepest potholes, wary of snapping an axle, and pulled into the front yard. "Thanks anyway."

She pushed the gearshift into park and killed the engine. Her hand went for the umbrella under the seat, but Casey beat her to it, and refused to relinquish it. He threw his door open, and rounded the back of the van, coming to the driver's door and opening it for her with a flourish. April lifted an eyebrow as Casey continued to behave like a gentleman, and carried the umbrella over her to the front porch. He was improving, she thought. They hadn't had an argument all night.

"There you go M 'am..." he said. "Home by midnight. Beat curfew again."

"Grandpa might've been here with a shotgun otherwise," she joked back.

"Don't see him now!" Casey moved fast, had her by the waist and got a kiss in before she put her back to the door.

It swung open behind her, spilling the two of them onto the front hallway floor in a giggling heap. "Get off me! I'll - _look_ at the mess on this floor!" April's hand slipped in the mud trailed over the whole of the entranceway. "Sewer slobs! I'll have their shells for this!" April was grumbling in good humour as she picked herself up to examine the damages to the backside of the dress. Casey was closing the front door, turning to shake the excess water off the umbrella. "And you! You're just as bad! Couldn't you do that outside? For God's sake Casey, I really oughta - "

April froze. She had turned, reaching for the lamp burning low in the hallway sconce and lost everything she'd been about to say in the shock of recognition -

It was Shredder.

Standing there, just a foot away, in her front hall was the nightmare image, bizarrely illuminated in a flash of lightning.

She gasped for breath, gathering a scream in her throat as Shredder gripped her hard by the wrist.

"Welcome home, Miss O'Neil," he intoned solemnly, and then threw her through the doorway to sprawl gracelessly onto the hardwood floor in the living room. Two dogi-clad forms pinned her arms back before she could even move to get up off her muddied backside.

 _"Casey! Run!"_ she screamed.

But it was too late for that. Shredder had set himself in the way, having rid himself of her troublesome person. The door had burst open behind Casey, revealing Tatsu and several more Foot barring that exit.

Casey stood, sandwiched between, the umbrella still in hand and swore once into the ensuing silence -

~o~

Well, it was as good a weapon as any, Casey Jones decided, as he took stock of the situation in one of those lightning glances that had helped so much on the ice rink in his hockey days. He had the opposition pegged peripherally and saw them closing as he retracted the umbrella's chute, reversed it in his hands and sent the handle sweeping sidelong into the teeth of the first black form to approach him. He body-checked the next, flipping that one over his back and right into Shredder's path, slowing the approach from that side. He stood, and found himself face to face with Tatsu.

"Haven't we met somewhere before?" Casey inquired lightly, and blocked the first punch Tatsu aimed his way, putting some of what the Turtles had taught him into practice. It worked. Once. Tatsu hooked his leg out from under him with a kick that Casey hadn't even seen coming - Casey went down, back flat to the floor and lost breath on impact. The following kick skimmed his jawbone, grating his teeth in their sockets. He knew the next blow after that would take him. Tatsu was serious.

But he still had the umbrella.

Casey slashed with it, the hooked end at the far side of an arc that caught Tatsu behind the knees - he'd done time in the penalty box for hooking before...

Tatsu came down to the floor, on his level for that instant Casey needed to throw himself up and over onto his opponent, the umbrella pressing hard horizontally across Tatsu's throat and cutting off his air for one far too short instant. Tatsu got his knees underneath him, kicked, and Casey flipped over Tatsu's head and outside onto the front porch.

Outside. It was just where Casey Jones wanted to be.

He high-sticked the next two Foot to accost him, and then he leapt down the porch steps into the muddy puddles there. It had taken mere seconds, start to finish. He discarded the umbrella.

"I'll be back!" he yelled cheerfully, although he was feeling anything but. "Keep the lights on!"

Casey bolted, not waiting for the rest of The Foot Clan he knew had to be hereabouts, not waiting for Tatsu, whom he had left behind in able-bodied condition. He was swearing in a continual mutter, low under his breath because he did not want to be overheard as he ran, slipping and sliding for the overgrown orchard nearby, figuring that for the first area that might provide something akin to shelter. He didn't get that far.

Casey was tripped and felled and seized by the back of his collar as he fled by the big oak, the one with the tire hanging by its rope and swinging wildly in the wind. He yelled, came around swinging himself. His assailant ducked it, cuffed him once casually and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up Casey!" Leonardo hissed at him.

Casey smiled under the three fingered grip, raised his eyebrows and shrugged as Leo let him go.

"We're in big-time trouble Leo," he breathed, expelling air hard. "We've got - "

"We've got work to do!" Leo grabbed him by the arm. "Com'on!"

There was pursuit. But Leo seemed to know where he was going and obviously had a plan.

And so, Casey Jones vanished with Leonardo, ninja-wise, into the darkness and the rain. He now had plans to make some big-time trouble himself.

~o~

Slippery.

That was one of the words Tatsu had once used to describe the hood that April O'Neil had finally identified for them as 'Casey'. Shredder might not have believed it, but the hood had escaped them, right there and then and he had been witness to it. Slippery, yes.

Clever and Quick, that too.

Shredder was furious. The warrior that Casey had thrown into his path had become entangled in his forearm blades, injuring the warrior on the sharp edges there and preventing him from engaging that enemy right there and then. Lucky. Another term that applied. It had taken only a moment to free the injured man without doing him serious harm, but it had been long enough for the hood to elude Tatsu, bolt out of doors and disappear into the darkness.

The fury he was feeling was reflected on Tatsu's face as Tatsu picked himself up with snarling Japanese invective and turned for the door.

"Tatsu!" Shredder had to shout to get Tatsu's attention turned back into the hallway again. Tatsu spun, iron control in the set of his shoulders, seething rage everywhere else.

"Master Shredder." The response was tight-lipped, the courtesy a reflex. Tatsu wanted to kill.

"He is _yours,_ Tatsu," Shredder told him, keeping his voice level with a similar effort. _"Kill him!"_ Off the leash at last, Tatsu whirled and sped after his quarry. Shredder stared after him, just for a few seconds, and then turned his own fury back into the living room and toward the prisoners he did have at the moment.

The lights had been turned up, efficiency from his subordinates. April O'Neil had been bound, her hands pulled behind her back and cuffed there securely. She was on her feet, supported roughly between the two Foot that had pinned her down when he'd thrown her into their waiting care. He approached her now, with slow, carefully controlled steps, brought himself to within striking distance, and stared down the defiance in her eyes. It took longer than it had with Megan McLaine...April O'Neil was hard by nature and by experience. Tougher, in a number of ways, than the girl was.

"Miss O'Neil," he began, using the soft and dangerous tone as he put the tips of his gauntlet blades under her chin. "Miss O'Neil, can you give me a reason not to kill you right now?"

She blanched, and swallowed whatever retort had been poised there on her tongue. She became prudent, with the blades at her throat, and said nothing.

There was a loud noise behind him, from Raphael's corner. The Turtle was fighting its bonds again and looked about ready to bellow out its rage...it had bared its teeth, and was rumbling low in its throat. "Don't even _think_ about it Shredder - " the thing threatened him with the tone it used. "Don't even - "

Shredder dropped the hand that was under April O'Neil's chin and in one smooth motion took a dagger from his waist sheathe and whipped it with lethal accuracy at the McLaine girl. The dagger hit the wall just behind her, mere inches from her throat. The girl shuddered, too surprised even to react past closing her eyes and holding her breath as she realized what she had just survived by the demonstration.

"I have warned you to silence once already mutant and I am not accustomed to repeating myself. Next time, I will _not_ miss."

Raphael shut up, but April O'Neil seemed to have found her voice again, incensed by the attack on the girl.

"Why not just kill us all now and be done with it?" she demanded. "Why all the games' Why - "

 _"Because,"_ Shredder raised his voice to reply. "Because, Miss O'Neil, the mutants have value!" He cut her off to answer. "A value that will make them worth all the trouble that both you and they have caused me! A value, which you, Miss O'Neil, do _not_ share. I will warn you this once to hold your tongue. Hold it, or perhaps you will find it removed..."

Shredder brought the long blades up again to touch her lips lightly for emphasis. She went pale one more time. Silently, much to his amusement. He was beginning to enjoy himself...it did a great deal to appease the anger that Casey had aroused.

For a long moment, they were all silent, pondering on that statement.

"What...value?" It was Splinter that asked the question into the quiet broken only by the sounds of the storm outside.

He had known the statement would get the Rat's attention. The Turtle and the girl were also regarding him with deep suspicion. He gestured at the two Foot still holding April O'Neil and they escorted her un-gently to another chair close to the wall and forced her down into it. A short length of rope secured her there further. He added the key for the handcuffs to the key ring and surveyed the group again, dismissing the two warriors to the hallway. The Rat's nose was twitching at him. Its ear and a half were laid flat down against its head.

He had it worried now.

He found enormous satisfaction in that.

Shredder paced the room for another short while, finally turned his gaze back to the Rat to stare at it. Splinter met his eyes, but did not repeat the question, though it was burning there in the look. He changed direction, went to recover the dagger.

The girl stiffened as he leaned close to pull the weapon from the wall. She would not look at him and kept her gaze fixed studiously elsewhere, until he drew himself erect and moved into her line of sight.

"You were quite correct, Miss McLaine," he commented. "Leonardo did supply samples of blood, tissue and spinal fluids. We conducted a great many tests with what was provided for us. Most of those tests proved only that the samples were conclusively unusual. A very odd hybridization of things on a molecular level. But we found the key, there in Leonardo's spinal fluids," he said slowly, turning to pace back toward the Rat and the Turtle. "The key to just exactly what these - freaks - are..." He gave each of the creatures a brief glance as he made reference to them. "The spinal tap revealed the presence of an inactive viral fragment, something very oddly configured and which my researchers thought highly irregular. Their initial findings, while tentative, together with the information and the conjectures made in Doctor Marshall's notes - " he watched as the girl flinched at the mention of her mother's name, " - told us almost everything we needed to know to duplicate the mutagenic agent that was contained inside the canister you so conveniently retrieved."

"The original labs weren't even able to duplicate the stuff!" April O'Neil objected. "What makes you think that you'll be able to? You're talking about a highly specialized science, not something you can do in a grade school classroom."

Again, he paused to stare her down. "Miss O'Neil, you disappoint me. You underestimate both my resources and my dedication to the task. However, I have no need to duplicate from scratch the substance which the original lab lost. It still exists. These - mutants - have been carrying it around with them for the last sixteen years."

There was a further quiet. It was the first time that he had ever seen visible nervousness in the Rat. Raphael was blinking in mute confusion, likely it did not understand any of what he had just said. But Megan McLaine was thinking in high gear...she seemed to understand only too well what he was talking about. She was piecing it together, picking up the individual threads and was, moreover, possessed of enough of the necessary knowledge to weave it into a pattern. He had given her enough clues.

"Miss McLaine," he said softly. "Explain it to them."

"It's the isotope...the radioactive decay provides the energy to activate the virus. It takes the phosphorous up into the phosphate linkages in the DNA during replication - "

The girl did know her stuff. One of his researchers had computer animated the probable molecular mechanics and the screen had shown just that - brightly colored ions snipping at the viral fragment, unravelling it, activating it to dance with the other DNA molecules onscreen. It was still beyond him, still beyond his researchers as to _why_ the stuff worked, _how_ it could possibly know what material to incorporate successfully. He had researchers burning to know, eager to conduct experiments and lacking the morals to care what he would do with the knowledge.

"So we surmise. And when active, the virus behaves rather like transcriptase, and rewrites the DNA of the host cell, incorporating whatever genetic material happens to be present. The sample in the canister - "

" - was already contaminated with human factors. The label...the label said so, that was what the inscription meant!"

He resisted the temptation to nod at the girl's unintended enthusiasm. His eyes swept the mutants again. "And when your...friends...encountered it, the virus was active - and rewrote their cellular DNA to include those human factors."

In reality, the process that had been outlined in theory for him was far more complex, but she had guessed correctly at the most salient points. But whatever the actual chemical mechanics were, the substance had been a spectacular success. Even he could hardly deny the results. They were here, almost all of the original, if unwitting test subjects, and they had proven to be the bane of his existence.

"You want to make more of it - " the girl's tone dropped to near inaudibility. "You want to make more of it and you need - "

"Raw materials," he supplied casually, discomforting the lot of them. Leonardo hadn't liked the phrase either. "There are," he went on, as if in passing, " - markets, for such a substance. Very lucrative markets...that is one thing that hasn't changed since the canister was first stolen, all those years ago."

He had moved closer to Splinter, saw now that the Rat's gaze was troubled. Miss O'Neil had likely discussed the possibility of the canister's theft, with them and the probable motivations behind it in the course of her own research into the matter. The Rat had grasped the import of the conversation, if not the finer details.

Shredder had found a very good reason _not_ to kill them all.

Their lives were going to come full circle. The mutants were going back to the lab. All of them.

Shredder intended to recover his losses. Would profit, if all went accordingly, "Yes, Splinter," he told the Rat quietly. _"Value."_

~o~

Casey Jones had cursed the storm all the way back from town. He wasn't cursing it now, except to mutter and complain about how the rain repeatedly washed off the mud he repeatedly smeared onto his skin to provide some semblance of camouflage...

Leonardo didn't need any such cosmetic assistance. Green that he was, he blended into the brush and the wood with an ease that would have frightened him badly if he'd happened to have been on the other side. Casey had watched from a tree limb, as two of their adversaries had walked right past Leonardo hunkered down in the ferns as they'd made another one of their futile sweeps through the area seeking their quarry. Leonardo looked like a rock, shell up in the darkness, and even though The Foot knew what they were looking for, and were trained in the ninja art themselves, they were still blind to it.

Those two Foot had gone down without a struggle, were bound and gagged with their own masks and belts, and were nestled, deeply concealed and immobilized, in the underbrush off the trail. They were the fifth such group to do so, not counting the twelve men that Leo had taken out before he and April had arrived back. That totalled up twenty-two bodies down. Not bad - not bad at all.

Leo tossed the radios those Foot had been carrying to him as he double-checked his knots and Casey pried the backs off to remove the batteries - the things beeped, and they did not want any such signals to attract potential rescue for their captives. They had listened in on the transmissions for a bit when they'd taken the first pair of Foot, and had learned nothing. The Foot were employing some sort of code that they just didn't have the time to decipher. It didn't really matter what The Foot's plan was anyway. Their own was just to disrupt whatever that was by disabling as many of them as they could.

Casey was terribly worried about April. He'd had to leave her back there with _Shredder_ -

Leo stepped back, picking up his katana. "We're gonna get 'em all Casey!" he said triumphantly, raising the swords skyward. "We're gonna get - "

Lightning flared again, stroboscopic and brilliant, and even Leonardo stood out incongruously against the trees, especially with his swords raised like that.

Casey moved, hauling one arm down and pulling Leo to the ground. "We're gonna get electrocuted if you don't put those damn lightning rods down!" He had seen a neighbour's chimney struck by lightning once, and some of the bricks had been found a half a block away. He had been mightily impressed by the incident. The awe had never left him.

The other arm dropped quickly, and Leo's nose went up, his eyes widening with alarm. Casey guessed that one didn't acquire much experience with lightning living underground.

"Umm...yeah." Leo said slowly, then went right back to the excited tone. "We're gonna get 'em all, Casey. These are big-city ninja...they don't know _anything_ about how to move around out here!"

So far, that had been one of their major advantages. It was true...the delinquent resources that The Foot drew most of their manpower from were for the most part, street kids, nearly all of whom had probably never seen anything more rural than Central Park. Wild in its own way, that little patch of greenery, but nothing at all to compare with the real great outdoors.

"Yeah. Yeah and we'd better get at it too. How many do you suppose Shredder brought along? This could take us all night...I'm not sure that our good buddies have that long. Looked like Shredder had them all, Leo. How are we gonna get 'em out of there?"

"We're working on it." Leo's snout came down into a frown. "He'll figure we'll try to rescue them. He won't have everyone traipsing around out here after us. Probably he'll keep his warriors close by the house to intercept us. Shredder knows that we'll come. We have to. He's got - "

"He's got a lot of aces." Casey knew that too. "Tatsu's the one we're gonna have to take down. These - " he gestured at the unconscious Foot nearby, "- are just the arms and the legs. We've gotta take out the brain."

Tatsu was one adversary he would just as soon know the whereabouts of.

Leo nodded, not disagreeing with a word of it. He bent over and picked up the tranquilizer gun that was the third such they had claimed between them so far. "You know how to use one of these?" Leo asked him.

Casey Jones just took it from the Turtle. And he smiled...

~o~

The reports that had been sent back to the farmhouse had not been encouraging. Tatsu had not yet found any sign of his quarry. Tatsu had found only that his forces were inexplicably being diminished. So the reports went.

Shredder, however, did not believe the disappearances to be inexplicable at all. The root causes had names. Leonardo. Casey.

He assured himself that it would only be matter of time. He had sent a message back with the last warrior to report, had instructed Tatsu to pull everyone back toward the farmhouse.

He wanted an accurate report, an exact accounting of whatever forces remained to him, and a tally of the weapons that had been brought along. The last thing he wanted was to find out through experience that their enemies had managed to arm themselves again...he paced, until another warrior appeared at the front door, bowing deeply before delivering his message.

Bad news again then. And brought by another, younger Foot. He paced, frowning behind the mask.

He continued to cast glowering promises of retribution about the circle of prisoners in the room. Reports had ceased coming in from a good number of his warriors. Tatsu was still out with a contingent of others, seeking, still without any success, for their enemies. The Turtle and the hood were good...he had to admit to that. But he did not have to like it.

The rain had stopped, one small mercy he had cause to be grateful for. He hoped it would last but he was certain at the same time that it would not...lightning continued to flash fitfully, and the ache in his thigh was a deep one. This was an intense low pressure system, not an isolated convection-storm cell. Shredder was very much missing the air-conditioned comforts of his headquarters, and cursed Splinter and his Turtles for the inconveniences he was now enduring.

He was becoming angry. Leonardo and Casey were responsible for the silence of his field agents. Moreover, the area they had sent men out to scour was large enough that their depleted resources wouldn't be able to search it effectively for the missing warriors, even if they _did_ manage to take the last of his enemies captive. Losing men bothered him.

The front door banged open as another warrior rushed in. Shredder turned.

"Master Shredder!" that one exclaimed breathlessly. "They have been found! Master Tatsu and the others are holding them, by the barn. Both the Turtle and the man!"

Shredder straightened at the news and spun, looking for the reactions behind him. The Rat was still calm and imperturbable. Raphael was straining uselessly at the bonds that held it. April O'Neil's face was creased with worry...she knew that he had meant it when he'd told Tatsu to kill Casey, and she knew as well that Tatsu had cause enough of his own to carry the order out. Megan McLaine was staring at the Foot warrior, as if in recognition.

He didn't miss the import, and turned again to stare at the black-clad youth himself with his eyes narrowing. Then he knew.

In a few swift paces Shredder crossed the room and pulled the mask from the warrior's head.

One of the twins.

The youth met his gaze, flint-eyed but respectful. "Master Shredder." The Marshall boy bowed deeply. "Command me," he requested formally, as Tatsu had taught him. No fear in this one.

Devon Marshall, then. The one that bore the grudge, and had something to prove. Tatsu trusted this one, or he would not have included him on the excursion. His ninja skills were still raw, and Shredder doubted he would have been much to rely on in a fight, but he could probably be trusted to watch over these prisoners until he could send one of the more experienced warriors back...still, this youth was the closest thing to a potential ally his captives had, and that alone was cause enough to worry him.

How _was_ it that these Turtles always managed to reduce his manpower so drastically?!

Shredder's eyes went back to the girl, then again to Devon Marshall. "Do you want the girl?" he demanded of the youth.

There was a hard blink, and a slow shift of gaze over to Megan McLaine. She went apprehensive, hearing the question and swallowing hard. She knew, Shredder could see, just what Devon Marshall had wanted of her for some time.

Devon's nostrils flared, predatory response, as he drew breath deeply. "Yes," he replied, hard and definite. The mean streak was on the surface, delinquent thoughts mirrored in his eyes.

"Then guard her," Shredder commanded, and he pulled Devon close by the front of the dogi, startling the youth. Devon lost and regained his balance, brushing against the tunic of his own bodysuit. "Guard her and these others well! With your _life,_ boy!"

The twin met the implied threat in his eyes as Shredder released him, and stepped back to bow deeply again. "Master, I will," he said, accepting the order.

Shredder picked up his _bo_ , and surveyed his prisoners one more time. He turned, and strode out through the front door, battle-ready,

~o~

Splinter had watched the whole exchange carefully. His gaze went now to Megan McLaine...a glimmer of hope had been born in her eyes when the recognition of the Marshall boy's voice had gone home, and then withered as Shredder had given her away so flippantly. He cocked his head now, trying to determine why the hope had returned, a wild hope shining in the eyes that were watching the door that had just swallowed their enemy.

The twin's gaze went once around the room, long and curious, at the assortment of captives, then returned to his stepsister, meeting her look squarely.

"Trevor!" Megan hissed, holding up her cuffed wrists. "Get us out of these things!"

Splinter's heart thumped, missing a beat.

The wild hope was contagious. Both April and Raphael had turned astonished faces to the two young people across the living room. The twin didn't move for a second.

Then Trevor Marshall smiled, and held up the keyring that he had just lifted from Shredder's pocket. "I really didn't think I could fool him..." he commented, crossing the room toward Megan, the keys jangling as he sorted through them. "You've gotta move fast, he'll send someone else back - if there is anyone left to send." Megan's handcuffs hit the floor. She took a number of the keys from the keyring, and they separated, each moving to another of the prisoners, Megan went straight to Raphael, fumbling with the keys, trying to find the right ones for the locks keeping the manacles in place. There was a brief space of frenzied activity.

"Damn keys are all the same!" Megan complained bitterly, trying several without success. "Trev!" Her stepbrother hadn't had any more luck with the locks on Splinter's own shackles, once he'd overcome a brief apprehension of approach. He had needed a few of words of gentle encouragement. "Com'on Trev," she said hurriedly. "Let's trade off-" Raphael was making impatient noises in the back of his throat, had his eyes fixed on the pile of weapons that Shredder had been foolish enough to leave lying in the front hallway once they had been located and brought to him on his order.

None of the keys seemed to fit. Both his hands and his ankles were still locked together. Splinter dismissed Trevor from the task. "No, quickly, free Raphael first!"

The boy glanced up at him, understanding. Trevor Marshall moved to the Turtle and he joined Megan in trying the keys, one after another until Raphael was loosed. Raphael looked at Megan, began to say something -

 _"Go!"_ Megan yelled at him, sidestepping out of his path.

"Raphael!" Splinter shouted himself, as Raphael bolted. "Remember your anger, but you must -"

The sai were back in Raphael's hands. It was all he'd needed. Without another backward glance, he shot out the front door in pursuit of Shredder.

 _"Raphael!"_ Splinter came to his feet unsteadily, awkward because of the chains. He was too late to stop Raphael's fleet escape. His ears went down, flat to his head. He could only hope that Raphael had understood, but he feared that the understanding alone would not be enough. He had tried to give this rash son of his the only weapon available that would afford him a chance against their enemy. But Raphael had not stopped to hear about the dangers inherent in that weapon, dangers that he was vulnerable to...

April was free now too, and following in Raphael's footsteps. She had picked up Donatello's bo, a look of grim determination set in her features.

"April!" Splinter snapped out her name, and followed it with an order in Japanese.

She heard him, knew the command, and responded, not so rash as to pursue Raphael without a word of advice. She twirled the bo, executed a series of defensive and offensive motions with it, the training that Donatello had given her evident in the actions. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't nearly as fast as Donatello would have done the same, but it was competent. "Surprise will be your advantage, April. But you must be swift. Go now, find Casey!" April O'Neil nodded, and then she was gone too.

Megan had moved to Donatello and Michelangelo, started in on the keys again, getting those locks off too. "Where the hell's Devon?" she demanded of her stepbrother. "What are you guys trying to do? Shredder'll kill you for this!"

The boy was back at trying his keys on Splinter's ankle shackles again. He hesitated for an instant, hearing the question, and was slow to reply.

"She is right," Splinter said to the youth. "What of your brother? Is he also here?"

Trevor shook his head. "No. No, he's still in New York, pretending to be me. Under guard until I get back. Tatsu thought it would be a good guarantee on 'Devon's' behavior to know that his twin would get killed if any mutinous thoughts occurred to him tonight."

Megan dropped the keys she'd been fumbling with at that admission, stopped what she was doing to stare at Trevor with her mouth working silently _"Then what the hell are you doing?"_

"I made a deal with him."

"What deal?"

"He wants to join the Foot Clan."

"He's an ass!"

"He wants to join the Foot Clan, ass that he is. I told him I'd go along if he agreed to helping you out of this."

Splinter watched as her features went blank and stunned. "You're an ass too," she whispered, but her tone had gone soft. "Trevor - "

"Devon didn't want to see you get killed! He doesn't dislike you that much. He's never _disliked_ you at all, Meg. Didn't you know that?" Trevor asked her. It was there in Trevor's tone, a between-the-lines explanation of what Devon had really thought for and about his stepsister.

Megan's face registered shock and realization, as if it explained a thousand things.

"I'm as blind as my mother-" she whispered. "Trevor - "

"And I wasn't gonna stay, knowing that they'd done you in. It's a compromise," he added.

"You'll both be _dead!"_ She seemed angry now, confused. "You have a plan? Better be a damn good one, Trev!"

"Yes," Splinter interjected. "Trevor Marshall, she is right. We can take you with us, but then Devon will die. Do not doubt that! Shredder will not tolerate this. He will not."

"We've fooled them so far."

"He won't care which of you was responsible!" Megan objected. "Good God, Trev! Didn't you hear about the crocodiles?"

"What!?" Obviously he had not, but it didn't take him long to figure the reference out.

"Never mind. He'll just kill you. Him and Tatsu both. One of you for each of them."

"Look, Devon's a lousy pickpocket. Tatsu and Shredder both think that's who I am. All we have to do is get the keys back into his pocket and he won't know how you managed to escape."

"He'll figure it out!"

"You'll have to knock me out, as if you overpowered me."

"He can still add one and one and get two as the right answer. Dammit, Trevor, he can probably do differential calculus standing on his head! He's - "

 _"You've taken out everyone else!_ _Why not me too?"_ Trevor's voice finally rose to match the level she'd been arguing at. "We thought it through Meg! I didn't know if I was gonna be able to do _anything_ , but it's working out. I decided to take the risk when the opportunity came. Devon left it up to me to decide what to do if and when that happened. You'll just have to make it look good!"

She opened her mouth with another objection, but Splinter stopped whatever she was going to say. She was frightening the boy. "We will do what we can to aid you in your plot, such as it is," he said. "Shredder believes you are Devon and he will not care to admit even to himself that, he could be so wrong. You have read him correctly in this. What pocket did the keys come out of?"

"Lower right, under the daggers. I don't know how you'll arrange to get them back there."

"It will not be a problem, if Raphael is successful - Megan," Splinter's nose went suddenly in her direction. Raphael was short on time, and in more danger than he knew. Shredder had done something else with the keys for his locks, he must have. "Raphael is in danger. He will try to kill Shredder, if he can, and he must not be allowed to. Give the keys to Trevor, we will finish here. You _must_ stop him."

She blinked at him, not understanding. Why? was written on her face. Again, she opened her mouth.

"He will not be rational," Splinter explained. "I have released him, given him the full power of emotion, and I fear it will overwhelm him. Megan - you _know_ Raphael. There is a dark side to his nature, that he has fought long and not always with success. It is anger driving him now, a blind rage. He is not fighting it now, but using it, and if he is allowed to do murder, it _will_ destroy him, just as it destroyed Oroku Saki."

She came up off of her knees, having collected most of the keys and came to hand them over, going down on one knee beside him. "How - how will I stop him?" There was a growing alarm in her eyes. She had been listening, she had begun to understand.

"Much of what motivates Raphael now centers on you, Megan McLaine." Splinter reached over to lay his locked hands on her head, stroking her hair the way he would have stroked a Turtle's head. "You know the answer already, I believe, in your heart, Megan. It is _emotion_ that is driving him, and it is emotion that will stop him. There are things stronger than hate and anger in Raphael. You _know_ this, Megan. You know this better than anyone and for his sake you must not deny it now. But he must be made to remember them. Follow your _heart,_ child."

Megan stood up, tensing, the urgency communicated. She swallowed hard, looked to Trevor. "Trev, I've gotta go. Tell Devon I'm...I'm sorry. I never knew. I always thought that you were - "

"Forget it. Go if you've got to. We're gonna be okay."

"But, Trev - "

"I said to forget it! We usually manage to land on our feet, Devon and me. You've got a date Meg, get going!"

She threw her arms around her stepbrother, pulled him into a quick but intense kiss that said things she didn't have time to verbalize. "Be careful," she wished him. "Both of you." Then she turned, and bolted for the door, just as Raphael and April had.

Splinter watched, as Trevor stared after her, looking as if he had just lost something irreplaceable. Silently, Splinter wished the girl luck...it was something they were all going to need yet-

~o~

Trevor Marshall shook himself out of the pointless regrets and the confusing curiosity about what Splinter had just said to Megan about the Turtle. God, she would. She really would too - Devon had been right, Megan always had liked animals better than people. He was still searching futilely for the right key to get the shackles off this Rat's ankles.

"She is going to worry about you both now." Splinter said. "And she will be justified. You must try to convince your brother that a future with The Foot is somewhat less than desirable."

Trevor met his gaze. "He already knows that. We both do," There was no time to explain, no time at all to get into the way things had been at home, no time for the whys and the wherefores of the situation that had been, or for the situation that was now-

It had all begun simply enough. Devon had been smitten with Megan almost from the day they'd met at that conference upstate. She had liked Devon too, and they had spent a fair amount of time together before she'd gone fickle and settled on him instead...but it had taken Trevor quite awhile to realize that it had been an evasive tactic. Megan had liked Devon...had liked him a little too much and it had frightened the then naive and socially inept sixteen year old that Megan had been into beating a hasty retreat. He was quite certain that it would have mellowed out, given time. Time that just hadn't been there when their parents had done the last thing any of them had expected by getting married.

That had put a lid on the whole thing. Megan had just told both of them to forget it. It had become far too close to home, and it likely it had been the best answer. Devon had even accepted it, though it hadn't been very easy for him to be living under the same roof. The entire thing had been left to die, but it hadn't. It had slept uneasily, until their father had gotten violent.

Devon had resented the marriage far more than Megan had, more than anyone other than Trevor had known. It had been about Megan, and not about Mel at all. It all might have come out then, but Megan had insisted that never a word be whispered about the beatings and she had made them promise. It had been long since over by the time they'd found out, and there hadn't seemed much point, or so Meg had convinced them at the time. Her arguments had made that twisted sort of sense. It had been a conspiracy of silence, all around, because Devon had never told Megan or either of their parents how just he'd felt about her.

Trevor had spent time wondering how different, things might have been, if anyone _had_ spoken up. But the silence had gone on, and things had snowballed, and so here he was, at the bottom of an incredible heap of misunderstandings and unlooked for circumstances that had gotten their stepmother killed, left their father a near-basket case and themselves all tied up with a bunch of ninja criminals.

It had been the juggling act of their lives, himself and Devon trying to out-think and out-maneuver the lot of them. They hadn't believed anything that Shredder had told them, not from the very start, and it was only because they knew themselves and one another so well that they'd been able to pull the whole thing out of the hat. Shredder had seen what he'd wanted to see in them - a great deal of potential value. And they had been lucky enough to have had some time alone to discuss it without being overheard. Shredder had talked enough about how to salvage what could be salvaged from a bad situation, and he and Devon had both been listening. They were doing what they could to salvage this one, and there was simply just no time to explain it all -

No time to explain that he was there because Devon hadn't trusted himself to keep his cool in any situation that involved Megan, and that Devon might have thrown all of what they'd managed to accomplish so far away -

Splinter fell into silence, thinking on that statement. They were not looking for a future with The Foot Clan, though they had been trying very hard to convince The Foot that they were.

"They threaten your father, then?" the Rat guessed.

"Haven't, yet. Not in so many words. But there's that, and they know where my mother and my sister live too. Shredder wants us - can _use_ twins, he's said. We can't just walk out. There would be...repercussions. We've got it figured how they operate."

"Twins," Splinter sighed. "Yes - twins. I should have guessed. Shredder would see...value...in that. What then are your intentions, yours and your brother's?"

Trevor shook his head again. "Keys just aren't here. Been through them twice now!"

He let his glance come up. It was weird, really, really weird, talking to this Rat, just as weird as it had been when he'd first heard Leonardo speak. That seemed a long time ago, as if it had happened in some other lifetime.

"Only way out is gonna be straight through. We're not good enough to evade and outsmart them, not yet."

There was another pause out of the Rat. Splinter's nose twitched at him and his ears went up and down. "The Foot Clan is ancient, and deadly," he said. "Know what you are doing, my son, you are taking on a formidable adversary - "

"We don't know what else to do." Trevor admitted. "They're making allowances, giving us certain...privileges. Fast-tracking us through. Twins. He wants us functional. We guess." He had picked up all the keys and he moved now to the two unconscious Turtles nearby, working methodically to get the chains and manacles off.

"You did not say this to Megan," Splinter said. "Is this the reason your brother wishes to join The Foot Clan - to escape them?"

"Do them some damage at the same time." Trevor admitted. "We're not real happy about the way they've messed us all up. We liked Mel - and nothing would have happened to her if Shredder hadn't been hanging _us_ over Dad's head. He's gotta live with that now too. We know who's fault that is. And we're gonna get in deep with 'em. When the time comes, we'll go to the authorities with enough evidence to shut 'em down for keeps."

Shredder talked an awful lot about revenge... _revenge_ had come to have a nice ring to it...if they could have it their way, he and Devon would teach them a new meaning to the word.

The Rat heard the bitter determination in his tone. Splinter's ears went up and then dipped low one more time.

"You must be very cautious...walk softly my son, and advise your brother the same. They will cut your throats if they so much as suspect your loyalty."

"We've been there. We know." The last lock came off the two of the unconscious Turtles. "We've discussed it."

The Rat looked him up and down. "I will do what can be done to help." Splinter's head  
tilted sideways. "You have courage, Trevor Marshall. And your brother also. Shredder has assessed your abilities well, though he may have underestimated them. Be cautious...Shredder is very perceptive. If necessary to mislead him, half-truths will serve better than lies. Keep your stories straight - that above all."

Trevor nodded. It was exactly what they had been doing anyway. He gathered up the chains and the locks, turned his head as he saw that Splinter had come awkwardly to his feet, in spite of the shackles. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I am going to help." Splinter said again. "If you will just close your eyes."

But it was much too quick for that.

Trevor had never seen any of the Foot move so fast. Splinter's legs bunched and he leapt, still bound, to perform a flying somersault that would have brought the Rat down close to him. Splinter's feet snapped out before that though, and the last thing Trevor saw were the bottoms of the Rat's heels, before they made hard contact with his temple.

The very last thought that had formed in his head was that knocking him out had been his own idea...

~o~


	14. True Forces - Chapter 12

**True Forces Chapter Twelve**

April was not at all sure what she thought she was doing. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Casey Jones, out there by the barn and up against Tatsu-The-Killer-Ninja and God alone knew how many other Foot Clan types with a single goal in mind - that being to do Casey Jones in permanently. She had Don's bo up, and she ran, not bothering to dodge puddles or mud slicks as she raced for the barn, a one-time haven of peace and privacy, all those many years and summers ago when life had been simple -

It astounded her that she saw none of their enemies. She had no idea how many Shredder had brought, but the number would have been fairly substantial - Shredder _always_ stacked the odds in his own favor.

It had never done him any good, not to date. Maybe Leo and Casey got a bunch of them. She wasn't counting on it, but her hopes rose some, when she saw Raphael squaring off against Shredder and Leo climbing to his knees nearby. Raph and Shredder were one on one, and there wasn't anyone trying to sneak up on Leo while he was down, no one watching from the sidelines.

She kept running, passing that battlefield, looking for Casey, somewhere in the vicinity of the barn. It was _dark,_ when there wasn't lightning, and that fitful and brilliant illumination functioned only to keep her night vision at bay. She rounded the front of the barn and stopped, just long enough to listen through the rumble of thunder and identify the sounds of a fight coming from inside.

Her heart was pounding. _How am I ever gonna see those guys in the black? There's no lights that work out here! But then again - they won't see me coming either. And I know this barn, and so does Casey, he's been working around out here with Don..._

Surprise, Splinter had said, would be her advantage.

There were things here Casey could use as weapons, old gardening tools, rakes and hoes and the like, and besides that a pile of solid oak and maple branches, cut and trimmed, which Don had collected and prepped and put in here to age and dry properly, intending to manufacture a half a dozen or so new bo. Casey would remember. Casey was an improvisational wizard, and he had a mean streak to boot.

But Tatsu had tangled with him before, knew better what to expect from Casey Jones, and Tatsu had skills and experience and a sincere desire to kill that Casey would be hard pressed to deal with -

April slipped inside the barn, scanned the darkened area and found a couple of Foot poised with their backs turned to the door and the sudden attack she launched at them with the _bo._ They both went down, taken unaware by the sneak assault that had Donatello's training and a flood of her own adrenaline behind it. _Hit 'em once, hit 'em hard._ She would remember to thank Don for the advice. Hopefully they were down for the count.

She turned her attention into the depths of the barn. Her eyes were adjusting and she found the motion she was looking for just as Tatsu dealt out a kick that sent Casey slamming back against the side of a horse stall. Casey lost breath with a grunt, slipped groundwards a few inches, and he caught Tatsu's foot when the follow through kick came, pulling it out from under his opponent and bringing Tatsu down to the ground with him as he did so. They grappled and rolled, only for the moment it took Tatsu to find leverage enough to flip Casey over, and slam him to the floorboards, judo-style this time, taking more breath out of him, rattling bones and bruising flesh with the force of it.

Tatsu knew all about hitting hard too.

Danny had told them how he'd once accidentally killed a kid, bare-handed, with a single blow.

They were both bruised and battered - Casey had a trickle of blood running down the left side of his face, leaking from a cut above that eye. Tatsu bore a dark smudge across the opposite cheek. They had both scored points, but Tatsu's had counted more -

Casey was moving slowly, stunned, trying to crawl aside as Tatsu climbed to his own feet, readying another attack. April _moved._

 _"Hai!"_ she yelled, and hit Tatsu behind the knees with the lower end of the bo, taking his feet out from under him again. She vaulted and spun, brought the opposite end sweeping down to strike the side of his head while he was still falling.

She wasn't quick enough. Tatsu was faster and more experienced and blocked the downward sweep with one arm as he took her legs out from under her with a slashing kick. She hit the floorboards jarring hard herself - she rolled, Donatello-taught reflex again, and got out of the way of the chopping blow that came next.

Panic occurred to her - she was outmatched, beyond doubt. She still had the _bo,_ and rolled with it another yard before even attempting to come to her feet and get it up. She did, with a firm double-handed grip that still proved pointless.

Tatsu got both of his hands onto the weapon too, and yanked it from her tightened fingers, flinging her sidelong into the boards of another stall. Pain shot through her shoulder - it felt as if she had just about dislocated it - April pivoted, putting her back to the stall as Tatsu growled at her - a guttural, triumphant noise that brought the fine hairs at the nape of her neck up with a cold tingle. He sounded rather like one of the Turtles, but the sound frightened her in a way that the Turtles never had.

There was no real reason at all for the Foot Clan to preserve her life - Tatsu was hardly in the mood to negotiate either.

Donatello's _bo_ was up again, in the hands of a skilled and knowledgeable enemy this time, and there was nowhere for April to go to avoid the lethal swing that Tatsu was about to make with it.

Casey Jones intercepted it with a violent body check.

 _"That's my babe, Tinkerbell!"_ he yelled, taking Tatsu down to wrestle with a ferocity she'd never seen out of Casey before.

April scrambled out of the way, with her mind racing. _Goddammit, I just gave Tatsu a weapon where the hell did Don stash those other ones if I can get one to Casey then maybe -_

Maybe Casey could have a chance. And she could pick one out for herself and make it two against one, but she couldn't recall what had happened to that stack of unfinished weaponry, where had - _the loft!_

She went for the ladder, started up it with her shoulder joint protesting the climb. But it was so damn dark! She crawled, feeling her way around, growing desperation driving her incautiously across the rotting boards - there were gaps, and weak points, and she didn't know where they all were. Her pantyhose were in tatters, her knees were full of slivers. She had broken several nails and hardly noticed before she finally found what she was looking for.

Her hand hit the pile of wooden _bo_ and sent them rolling across the dusty loft.

She picked them up, as many as she found inside arm's reach, and went for the edge of the loft with them, bringing the battle into view from the high vantage.

The fight was all in Tatsu's favor. He kicked Casey backward again, landing the blow in the pit of Casey's stomach and leaving him writhing on the boards. Tatsu straightened, recovered the bo that he'd lost at some point and approached Casey with it again, his own shoulders heaving with the effort he'd put into taking Casey down.

Her eyes widened in horror. This time, Tatsu would kill -

What would the Turtles do?

 _Jump._

It was something she'd done from the loft a thousand times, and never been afraid - loft jumping into a haystack with her cousins while her grandparents had been working elsewhere had been a favorite pastime. But there were no playful cousins and no haystacks this time, nothing to cushion such a leap except for...except _for Tatsu himself-_

April gathered herself into a crouch, kept one _bo_ and sent the rest clattering over the edge to distract her target.

Tatsu spun at the disturbance, took a half second to identify the source. She used that half second, and launched herself from the loft's edge with the _bo_ held between her two outstretched arms. _"Banzai!"_ she screamed. _"Casey!"_

The horizontal length of _bo_ caught Tatsu under the chin as his head came up. Her falling weight took him right down to the boards. Her knees drove into his abdomen on impact and his skull hit the floor with a crack. April let go of the _bo_ and somersaulted past Tatsu's head with the momentum, coming to an awkward sliding halt not too far from Casey. Her shoulder was afire as she clambered to her feet again, expecting another hostile attack. But Tatsu wasn't moving. Sprawled on his back, he lay immobile where she'd left him. It took a minute for the fact to register, that she had actually stopped him.

She staggered over to Casey, fell to her knees and hauled him up into a relieved embrace. He was blinking at her and at Tatsu's stilled form. He must have seen what she'd done.

"Didn't know you were an escape artist or an acrobat, babe - " he managed to say. "What circus did you pick up all this stuff from?"

"One with the same sideshow you've been working," she replied, reaching up to touch the bloodied cut on his forehead. "We've gotta start using a net though, I think."

He smiled at her, and pulled her down into a kiss. "Gonna get you a kissing booth instead."

He _never_ quit. She was still panting, trying to catch her breath. "You got yourself a deal, Mister. But the circus ain't over yet." She let Casey pull her to her feet, and she recovered Donatello's _bo._

Casey picked up a couple of the others, checked to see if Tatsu was still breathing. She was relieved to find she hadn't actually killed him, deadly dangerous enemy or not. The very idea appalled her.

"Got a hard head, Tinkerbell does," Casey commented. "Let's get outta here, babe. Gotta find out what Shredder's up to."

"Fighting with Raph, that's what he was up to a few minutes ago." April felt another chill run down her spine. Raphael was dealing with Shredder alone. "Com'on!"

All of the Turtles together had not been able to defeat Shredder the last time they'd done battle.

It wasn't over yet.

~o~

The area around the side of the barn was wet, as everywhere was wet after the downpour, but it was even more slick because it was mud and not just grass along that particular wall.

That was where Raphael found the battle, Leonardo and Shredder locked in mortal combat, reliving a scene that they had enacted before on a New York City rooftop. It had rained that night too. But there hadn't been the lightning as there was now, illuminating the combat with macabre, stroboscopic effect. The mud was a liability.

Raph was there in time to see Leo's footing go amiss, a slippage in the mire that brought Shredder's bo into hard contact with the back of Leo's skull, stunning his brother to his knees, sending him groundwards.

 _"Shredder!"_ Raphael screamed out his enemy's name as he hurtled across the unkempt lawn, closing the distance fast but having to distract the killing blow that Shredder was preparing to send after the crippling one.

It worked.

Shredder's eyes jerked up at the impossibility of Raphael's presence outside the farmhouse, his gaze wide with hatred and surprise. There was fear there as well. Fear that if Raph was out here, then just maybe Splinter was too.

The lethal stab downwards was redirected at the last instant into a block meant to deflect Raphael's hell-bent charge. But Raphael didn't stop, he didn't even slow down and Shredder was bowled backward into the mud as the enraged Turtle collided with him.

One of Raph's sai was locked onto the _bo._ Shredder grappled with him, a moment's wrestle that brought Raphael's face close to the faceplate.

"Guess who?" he hissed at his enemy, using the same dangerously soft tone with which Shredder had greeted him only a short while ago down by the pond. He rolled off his opponent, wary of the blades adorning every limb, the spines a simultaneous defensive barrier and offensive weapon.

It didn't take Shredder any longer to find his own feet. He set himself again to fight, and Raph could see the fierce hatred burning in the eyes that watched him.

Raph remembered his own rage, for Leo, for Mike, for everything that Shredder had ever done to them and to their friends, but most especially for Megan. He understood then, just what Splinter had been talking about.

The glowering rage in Shredder's eyes confirmed it. Anger, turned inwards, was an unconquerable enemy...if turned outwards, then what?

 _'As you increase his arsenal,'_ Splinter had said. That and _'It is unwise to anger Raphael -'_

Splinter had taught and trained them to listen. Trusted them to be listening when he spoke. Raphael had _heard_ him, Raphael _understood._

He had spent the last year putting his anger under control. He had thought, until now, that he had learned to leash it because it was a detriment, and loss of the control would only lead him to mistakes, possibly lethal ones. He had learned to control the anger, he could channel it now. Channel it _outwards-_

Splinter had loosed him from the discipline, given him a weapon powerful enough to counter whatever emotional forces Shredder was tapping. _'Remember your anger - '_

He let it go, that anger more than enough to match whatever was driving Shredder, and he snarled in response to the vicious gaze. He had noted the fearful reaction that Splinter had aroused with his own hissing, and Raph wasn't at all adverse to employing the same tactic to unnerve this antagonist.

The two combatants closed. Raphael kept himself between Shredder and Leo, and drew the battle away when Shredder finally engaged him, heading toward the barn, putting the obstacle of a solid wall at Shredder's back and reducing his options. They fought silently. Gone was the small talk that Shredder had given them in other battles, both the compliments and the insults.

To kill was the only goal they shared in the hostility.

Something _was_ different. Raphael found he was able, easily, to counter every move that Shredder made, blocking and striking with a fluidity that he didn't stop to question. He didn't tire, found strength and speed without looking for it and the anger...the anger just _grew -_

Finally, Raph managed a kick that sent his foe crashing back into the side of the barn. Raph got both sai locked onto the bo again. Like lightning, he twisted them, each in an opposing direction, and the rotational energy tore the _bo_ from Shredder's hands.

The maneuver cost him. Just as Leo had a few moments before, he lost his footing on the slick ground. He stumbled forward, and used the additional momentum to drive his head into Shredder's abdomen. Shredder lost breath, but used that proximity to bring one knee up in a motion meant to eviscerate him with the blades of the shin guard. Had Raph been human it would have worked, but the high-tech armour was pitted against that which one hundred and seventy million years of natural evolution had provided for Raphael, and the shell prevailed.

Raph took some damage, as the blades penetrated the surface of his belly plates, cutting a number of shallow grooves there that served only to enrage him further.

He dropped one sai, freeing his hand to catch Shredder's right wrist as his opponent prepared a slice to his throat, and he began to crush it. Shredder's eyes reflected the pain of the grip, but his left arm was up, high and moving into the arc of another blow that would bring the long blades of that gauntlet straight down and into his throat from another angle entirely. Withdrawal into his shell was no defence from that; the blades, point-on, would likewise penetrate his skull, driven as they were from the higher, preferred offensive position.

Raph saw it coming and met the descending fist with a sai, his sole defence from the inferior vantage there on his knees.

The weapons struck, a direct head-on collision of force and a metallic shrilling, plain steel and exotic alloy grating to draw sparks as Raph's sai caught the double blades, halting their deadly descent. The twin blade lengths were seized between the triple prongs of the sai, and the contest was instantly transformed into one of brute strength between the two limbs wielding the locked weaponry.

Raphael's fury translated into power. He pushed Shredder's arm back incrementally, at the same time increasing the pressure he was exerting on Shredder's other wrist. He was growling, his voice rising steadily. Then Raph let loose with a howl of rage, drowning the agonized cry that escaped Shredder when the left wrist gave and the bones there slipped their tendons, disabling that limb entirely.

Shredder's body jerked once and went limp, and the sai slammed the right arm backward, the force in the sudden freedom of motion sufficient to drive that sai deep into the barnboard and pin the double blades there, embedding them lengthwise deep into the wood between the prongs.

Shredder was pegged to the wall.

Raphael had never felt so _powerful._

His senses were alive, on some hitherto unknown, unsuspected level. He was high on the triumph, drinking up the power as it coursed wildly through him, potent and voracious.

 _Nothing_ could stop him.

Raphael threw himself back, evading further anticipated kicks from the shin guards, turning and scooping up the sai he'd had to drop to break Shredder's wrist, taking several wide strides and spinning again, intent now on taking Shredder out permanently. Taking him out, _now_ , while he was still pinned against the wall and unable to escape -

Shredder was sinking into shock, but read the intent in Raphael's eyes and doubled his efforts to pry the gauntlet loose. He did not have time.

Raphael's arm came over hard and fast with the sai in throwing position and just about to leave his fingers when someone tackled him sidelong, taking him down into the wet grass in a skidding tangle of limbs.

 _"Raph! No!"_ Megan screamed.

Megan? _Megan?!_

Rage overturned into confusion, then sprang back to fury. Raphael threw Meg over onto the ground, sought his feet again, Shredder still his immediate goal, before he could escape, before he could -

Raph was stopped there on his knees as Meg came clawing after him, one hand locking fingers onto the leather of his waistband, and the other hand clamping onto the upper rim of his carapace, pulling him backwards -

He saw that Leo was up on his feet and holding Shredder in place now, with one katana pressed to the throat exposed under the lower edge of the faceplate - _a completely unasked for and unwanted intervention in_ his _kill..._

 _No._ Leo wouldn't _dare -_

The fury detonated, went in all directions.

It was the _worst_ possible kind of betrayal. Shredder was _his!_ He would break Meg's arm if she didn't let go and Leo had just better get out of the way or -

But Leo was standing off slightly to one side - he could still toss the dagger, he could still -

His shoulders were heaving with pent rage. He had the sai up again. Megan let go of his carapace and dragged instead at his arm, spoiling his aim _for a second time..._

 _"No, Raph!_ _Stop!_ " She shouted again. "It's over! _Put it down!"_

 _"Why?"_ he raged back at her, tossing off the hand that was holding his throw in check, and spinning to tear her other hand from his waistband and twist it up brutally. _"Dammit Meg! I could have killed him by now!"_

What was she _doing?!_ He would end it, end it now and forever, kill Shredder and - just who did she think he was going to do it for!?

 _"Raph!"_ Her eyes were full of alarm "Listen to yourself! _Raph!_ " There was pain reflected there too. She was no match for him. He was _dominant_ here, and the realization fed the voracious power. Raph tightened his grip, because her meddling was no less heinous a betrayal than Leo's and he wanted to break -

 _"I could have killed him!"_ Raphael was shaking, had nowhere for the rage to go. He wanted to shatter something, wanted to give in to that raw need for destruction, did not _want_ to be stopped, the victory was _his,_ they were _not_ going to take it from him, they were _not -_

 _"And gone down to his level?! Snap out of it, Raph!_ _You're not a killer! That's_ not _you, Raph! Stop it!_ " She fought to free her arm, could not, and she started to pound at his chest plates with the other hand clenched into a fist. _"It would have been murder!"_

He stared at her, had scarcely heard, but something about the word 'murder' slowed him down, made him take note of the naked fear in her eyes. That wasn't the way she'd looked at him before, not what had been there, not for - not for _him..._

Raph rose slowly to his feet, suddenly cast her off roughly into the grass and backed away uncertainly. He kept staring at Megan as chilling doubt crept up his spine.

He spun then, fell back onto his knees, and drove the sai into the rain-soaked earth double-handed, venting the fury and drawing in one great racking breath that became a sob on exhalation.

 _"No!"_ he moaned, realizing, _knowing_ , to the very depths of his soul what he had just about done. The knowledge eroded the sense of power, dissolved it abruptly and plunged him from that great height into a cold, empty abyss. _Murder_.

 _Murder._

What he'd wanted to do. _Wanted,_ with a passion that he now couldn't in any way deny.

 _No, no, no..._

"Meg, it'll never end...never!" It was despair now, as deep as the rage had been powerful.

He'd wanted to hurt Meg -

And she had seen it, knew now what he was at the core and it was nothing better than what was pegged to the wall over there and -

Meg came down behind him, let her arms go around his shaking, heaving shoulders and whispered his name close to his ear, repeating it over and over until he calmed some. It was the same song he'd heard earlier, back on the dock -

 _"You come back to me, Raph!"_ Her voice was shaking, cracked _._ "You...you just _come back_ and you _stay_ with _me_!" Her whole frame was trembling to the bone, every muscle every bit as shaky as her voice. _"Love you, Raph,"_ she whispered finally _._

Very possibly it was the only thing that would have gotten through to him.

Raphael let his head turn, had to look at her, had to see it in her eyes. How could she possibly still be feeling _anything_ like what he'd seen earlier? How could -

But it was there, it was under the tears she was blinking back, it was _there_...

 _"Meg -"_ he breathed her name out weakly.

Her hand came up, touching at his nose again, that oh-so-gentle gossamer contact, tangible and real. _"I love you,"_ she whispered again. "Which is ridiculous, and nonsensical, and nothing my Mom would say anything especially good about, but It's true and ohmigod I'm babbling..."

He came up off his knees and wrapped his arms around her, not caring a damn for witnesses. Raphael choked on a momentary snort of hysterical laughter, then lost himself in the embrace, sinking back into the timeless, suspended place where he was safe from the world and the events that had been battering at him with such violence. He took the shelter she provided, while some other part of his mind sorted and re-organized the events and his priorities inside the framework that included Megan McLaine. And when they had both stopped shaking, he took a deep breath and looked over to where Leo was still holding Shredder at sword-point.

"Hey, Leo-" he said, gaze straying back to Meg's face, and his tone one of casual disinterest.

"Yeah?" Leo answered.

"He's all yours, Leo." Raphael told him. "I got way too many more important things to do."

Just let Shredder think about _that_ one for awhile...

~o~

Leonardo had never quite lost consciousness after the last blow from Shredder had sent him down into the mud and the grass...his head had spun and it had taken a seemingly long while for him to gain his feet again. When he did, it had been to find Raphael engaged with Shredder in his place and radiating a palpable killing rage on every level that touched his senses -

He had never seen Raph fight like that before, never felt that sort of heat, not like now -

Raphael _meant_ to kill.

He had intended to get in there, to help Raph out, thinking that between the two of them there just might have been some slim chance of defeating their enemy - a task that all four of them together hadn't been able to accomplish last year. Shredder had been that good, and he still was. And yet, there was Raphael, taking Shredder on single-handed and holding his own...

And he found that frightening. Leo began to worry, for reasons that he couldn't define.

April and Casey had appeared from somewhere around the front of the barn, April with Don's _bo_ in hand and a triumphant look on her face. They'd hurried over to where Leo was standing, watching the battle.

"We'd better be ready to get out of here in a hurry," Leo told them urgently once they were close enough. "We don't know if there's any more of them around...get the guys and Splinter into the van!"

"Got it." Casey said. "Raph's okay? Doesn't need any help?" They both had noted the demonic combat, could hardly have failed to.

April's eyes were wide with alarm.

"No. No, he's okay - get going!" He was more and more aware of the heat coming Raphael, and urgency began to beat at him too...there was hazard here, a danger for Raph that Raph wasn't aware of. _"Get the van!"_

They went, picking up on the urgency in his voice, with a few backward glances of apprehension. Megan came racing out, passing them outbound a second later.

She was breathless, and stopped, staring at the fight as well. "Splinter says we can't let him kill Shredder!" she panted. "He can't!" She repeated what Splinter had told her.

Then Leo understood fully. He became more alarmed himself, the danger that he'd suspected clearer than ever.

"If we can..." he murmured. "I'll handle Shredder. You get in Raph's way...be careful, make damn sure he sees it's you. And Meg - "

She looked at him, tearing her eyes away from the fight.

"Tell him...you tell him what he needs to hear."

Leo remembered the campfire, knew what it was going to take to get through. He readied his _katana._ They both waited, shifting anxiously into closer positions, until Raph had immobilized Shredder, pinning him to the wall with one sai.

And Raph turned, _about to fall into the trap -_

Megan moved - she tackled Raphael, spoiling the lethal toss Raph had been about to make with his remaining sai. _.._

Leo took himself and his _katana_ over to Shredder, and put one of his blades to the vulnerable throat, keeping well clear of the shin guards.

"You can relax now, Shredhead." Leo told him, as the struggle to release the double blades ceased. "Raphael isn't going to kill you..."

He let the statement trail, let Shredder wonder just whether or not _he_ would. He waited, listening to the shouting from behind him, felt it as the killing fire subsided, quenched in deep depression...

 _Good girl! She's turned him..._

He'd been close, Raph had been.

Close to taking that first step that would have put him on the path to becoming something of Shredder's kind.

Megan reached up and touched Raph's nose. He envied Raph that attention, envied the feelings that Raph was giving over to now - Leo watched from the corner of his eye as Raphael turned and moved back toward the farmhouse with Megan, putting one arm around her shoulders as if it truly belonged there. He was thinking that just maybe it really did.

Shredder was staring after them in mute disbelief.

"Mind your own business, Canhead!" An increased pressure from Leo's katana brought Shredder's attention back to the Turtle that had as much, or more cause than enough to cut his throat. Leo turned his mind to the question of just what to do with Shredder, now that he finally had him cornered.

And as helpless as once Leo had been, under other circumstances. He decided to ask.

"What should I do with you now, Shredder?"

Shredder answered through teeth that were still clenched with pain. But there was contempt in the tone. "You are a fool, Leonardo, and asking fool questions."

"Am I?" Leo leaned forward, putting a bit more pressure behind the _katana_. "I wouldn't push it, Shredder. I'm not like Raphael."

"No. You are a fool Leonardo, but he is twice the fool for having listened to that girl - Raphael was going to solve all your problems for you, mutant. She was fool enough to stop that. And what he said will now be true - it will _never_ end, mutant. Never."

"Won't it?" Leonardo dropped the _katana_ that was at Shredder's throat and took one wide step back. He raised both swords and spun on one foot, letting the blades fly toward Shredder in a deadly arc. Shredder's eyes widened, seeing his own demise in the motion -

At the last instant Leo flicked the wrist holding the first _katana_ up and caught Shredder's helmet under the rim, pulling it off his head just as the second _katana_ came slicing after the first. Leo lunged, reversed the sword and let the hilt crash into Shredder's skull -

Shredder crumpled, and dangled unconscious from the gauntlet that was still embedded in the side of the barn.

"So there, Shredhead." Leonardo nodded to himself in satisfaction. He reached over and pulled Raph's sai from the wall, let Shredder slip into the mud at his feet. Then he bent and picked up the helmet, deciding that he had earned a souvenir.

He felt almost as good as Raph.

~o~

The rain had begun again.

It was a warm, steady precipitation now, accompanied by only an odd flash of lightning and a distant murmur of thunder. It was one last indignity to cap the events that had finally left him lying in a mud-puddle, soaked to the skin, disoriented and racked with pain from a variety of injuries.

Shredder was beyond rage, or had thought so, until he'd realized that the mutant had made off with his helmet and face mask, adding insult to the injuries that the other one had dealt out.

The rain had brought him back to his senses, such as they were, and had done the same for a small number of his Foot. Those had found him there, still sitting in the mud, as he had tried to loosen the gauntlet and forearm guard that were strangling his circulation around the broken or dislocated wrist. He gave them the instructions they had come seeking, in a calm, level voice, told them to find Tatsu, told them to find the rest of their comrades. The battle was over...it was time to tally up the losses...

There was a sizable lump throbbing just behind his right ear. That pain was secondary to the smouldering fire washing through his left arm from shoulder to fingertips - a fire that flared up to a bright blaze when he finally managed to unsnap the gauntlet and restore some circulation to the limb. The sudden rush of blood punctuated that fire with hot, stabbing needles that were followed by nausea and dizziness. It was going to mean a cast and a sling.

The rage he'd felt at the loss of the helmet had evaporated quickly. They were still fools, those mutants, all of them, even the Rat. They did not know how to follow through, or they lacked the stomach for it...they left their most dangerous enemies alive. They did not know how to solve their problems, or they were unwilling to, even when the answers were given to them. He did not understand that. Of the lot, Raphael was perhaps the only one that he did understand, because that mutant alone had behaved in a manner that was in some measure comprehensible.

 _Fools,_ he thought again, and could only be glad of it, because fools that they were, they had left him alive, and therefore, with further opportunity to pursue the matter...it had not been a lie, what he'd told Leonardo. Raphael had been correct. It would _never_ end.

Not until either he, or they were quite dead.

Shredder eventually picked himself up and made his way to the porch of the farmhouse. It seemed an unreasonably long distance from the side of the barn. More of his Foot were conscious now, more were stirring, groaning with their own aches and injuries. A number had been tranquilized, and would sleep for some time yet. Tatsu had been located, and was still among the unconscious...the lump behind his own ear paled in comparison with the bloodied welt across the back of Tatsu's skull. He hoped it was not too serious - he would need Tatsu, in the coming vendetta, and aside from the need for an ally, he wanted Tatsu there too.

There were few enough people that he counted as friends, and Tatsu was foremost among them. The hood, it seemed, had learned some foolishness from his mutant friends - Tatsu had been left behind alive too. Casey had also obviously learned a few things about fighting as well.

Because Tatsu was not an adversary easily taken down. Certainly not as easily as that Marshall boy had to have been...

The youth was there on the porch with some of his injured comrades, nursing an aching head with his brow dropped onto his knees. Shredder approached that twin, with a horrid suspicion forming in the back of his mind. His good hand shot down to the pocket, finding the keys still there and buried in a handful of mud.

Still -

The twin looked up when his boots stopped there in front of him, and then he levered himself upright with his back against the wall. The motion was unsteady...the boy was every bit as disoriented as he was feeling himself. There was a livid bruise at the boy's hairline - but the skin had not been broken, there would be no scars to negate his value as an identical twin - the boy attempted an apologetic bow. "Master Shredder - I -"

"Sit down," he told the youth. _"Trevor."_ He tested the suspicion...there just might have been time for the youth to have betrayed them all - he knew where their individual strengths and talents lay.

The boy blinked at him. His eyes were not dilating properly. The disorientation and the nausea were not feigned. It was a real concussion, not a ruse to mislead.

"Devon," the twin corrected him in a whisper. "I'm Devon, Master Shredder - " His knees slipped, and he went slowly back down to the porch boards. "It jumped," he said. "The Rat...it jumped, like a kangaroo - " The boy closed his eyes. "It was so fast - Master, I - "

That sounded like truth. The boy was frightened, stammering out the explanation. He _had_ threatened him, after all. "Silence," he told the Marshall boy. "It no longer matters."

It would be difficult to blame the boy, when every single one of his warriors, and Tatsu, and he himself had also gone down at mutant hands.

"There will be another time," he added, after that. "It is not over yet."

It was only just the beginning...

~o~

He had missed it.

He had slept through it, in fact.

Michelangelo had complained bitterly when he'd finally found out that he'd missed the entire thing. It had come as a huge surprise to come to and find himself back in the den in New York, when he had, at last memory, been putting down marshmallows around the campfire...

Leo had told him to shut up, and he'd done it, hearing the tone, and seeing that Raphael was incredibly upset about something. Raphael had gone all quiet and introspective again. Megan was spending a lot of time with him, equally quiet and defending Raph from any and all approach. Splinter had finally gone and shut himself away with Raph for awhile, had had a long talk or delivered a lengthy lecture or doled out a great deal of advice. Maybe all of the above. Everyone was short-tempered and snappy. Raphael had emerged from behind the closed doors, still moody and brooding, and Megan had dragged his brother out of the den to take him off somewhere else for another private chat.

His own throat hurt, and no one seemed particularly interested. Michelangelo went sullenly quiet himself, and had finally given up asking what had happened because it was obvious that nobody was going to tell him. He had no sooner come to that conclusion when Splinter came along to dislodge him from his comfortable corner, announcing that he wished to speak to them all...

And after that, it still took another half-hour for their Master to get going at it - Splinter had to settle himself, before sinking into a lengthy meditation, something he normally did whenever he slipped into tale-telling mode.

But Mike finally lost patience with it. "So what's the matter with Raph?" he asked. "What happened and how did - "

"Patience, Michelangelo." Splinter interrupted him. "I am about to begin. It is a long tale."

"Com'on - I just wanna know what happened!" he complained again.

"Then you will have to listen." Splinter told him with extreme calm. "Raphael has had an experience that I would have spared him if at all possible, but which I had little choice but to drive him toward. It was a risk that I took, and one for which Raphael almost had to pay the price. I owe your brother a profound apology for that, among other things. He has been, we have all been, very, very lucky." Those statements did nothing to enlighten anyone, unless it was Leonardo, whose head had tilted for an instant and then moved to nod briefly.

"You have all heard me say, many times," Splinter went on. "That anger turned inwards in an unconquerable enemy. You have all heard me say that, and it is true. We have lived with it for some time now."

"Raph?" Mike piped up, always the only one to interrupt Splinter's stories.

"No, Michelangelo, I am not talking about your brother. I am talking about Oroku Saki."

"He's mad at everything."

"Yes, that is true. But mostly he is angry with himself. Oroku Saki - "

"But Master Splin - "

 _"Michelangelo!"_

Mike ducked the swat that Leo made at him only to back into the one that Don launched from the other side. Each was accompanied by an annoyed exclamation. Both the _"Shut it!"_ and the _"Can it up, Mikie!"_ had been simultaneous with Splinter's warning.

"Okay!" he responded quickly. "I'm shut up already!"

Splinter sighed and went on into the quiet that followed. "Oroku Saki fell victim to his own anger, many, many years ago. It has changed the course of his own life, and that of so many others around him, both those who are his allies and his victims. Saki is an unhappy man, and I suspect he always has been. Yoshi and Shen discussed it, a number of times...Saki's childhood and youth were hard, and Shen always pitied him for that." Splinter paused to breathe deeply, and glanced at him, but Mike held his tongue.

"Saki was the youngest son of an ancient family, a family at the very core of The Foot Clan, which itself is very ancient, and demanding in its codes of honour."

"Honour?" Leonardo snorted, startling Mike, because Leo never interrupted.

"Honour?" Mike repeated the word.

"Among thieves." Donatello elbowed him. "Shut up."

Splinter smiled at the reference. "Honour among thieves. Yes, there is truth in that also. Thieves and assassins though they be, the ninja of The Foot Clan are bound nonetheless amongst themselves by very strict codes of conduct, and Saki no less than the rest. Expectations were high for the sons of the Clan. Still, Saki met and surpassed them...he was, and still is, a very gifted individual. It is just as well that he was youngest - else he might well be Clan Master by now, and his sphere of influence one of global proportions. Here in New York, his powers are limited locally."

"How do you know that?" Leo asked.

Splinter shrugged. "Certain references that I overheard last year while in Shredder's custody. Things that only make sense in particular contexts. To some extent I am guessing in that. But we are discussing Shredder's past, .not his present. There was a time, you know, that Yoshi and Saki were very good friends. They were rivals in many martial arts competitions, but they respected one another and often practiced together. They were extraordinarily well matched, and they both benefited from that, honing their skills as they could not have done against opponents less practised. Yoshi, I think, was the first true friend that Saki had ever had, and that only made it so much more painful for the both of them when Tang Shen came into the picture. Especially painful, because it was Saki that introduced them, and Saki that had been dating her first."

"Yoshi stole his girl?" Mike sat up very straight. This wasn't something they'd heard before.

"Stole - " Splinter repeated "- is a very strong term, though doubtless Saki saw it that way. Hearts very seldom do as one wills, you should all know that by now...it is the basis for so many of the books and movies and television you all watch. And lately, it has been under your very noses. Yoshi and Shen fell in love, that is all, and it hurt them both because of the pain it caused Saki. Saki too, had been in love and he had thought that Shen loved him in return. I do not think that he had known much love in his life, and what he'd felt for Shen had been overwhelming. He could only view her preference for Yoshi as a betrayal, and a very deep one. Yoshi's acceptance of the girl was just as bad. He challenged Yoshi for her, more than once, but Yoshi managed to put him off for a time."

"He put Shredder off?"

"Saki was not Shredder then, Michelangelo. He was young. They were all very young, and they made mistakes. One of Saki's was in telling Tang Shen of The Foot Clan. He had hoped to impress her with his connections, but he succeeded only in frightening her badly. Shen's mistake was in believing him so completely. America was Shen's idea. Yoshi would have stayed in Japan, and fought Saki for her if necessary, and he might just have won...he loved Shen deeply and his motivations were sufficient. But he changed his mind when she told him of The Foot Clan and Saki's involvement with it. Shen was frightened and that frightened Yoshi as well. He came to believe that in challenging Saki, he risked coming into conflict with the whole of the Clan."

"Would he have?" Donatello asked.

"I do not know. I rather doubt it. Oroku Saki was a younger and less influential member of the Clan. It was, strictly speaking, a personal matter. It figured largely only in Saki's mind. But he had convinced Shen of the danger, and she convinced Yoshi. Distance then seemed to be the best option. They had all been studying English, and the two of them felt that New York was a haven both far enough away and large enough to offer obscurity. For a time, they found peace. But they had both underestimated Saki's response to their escape. He pursued them. And he found them."

"And we know the rest. What's it got to do with Raph?" Mike couldn't help but ask.

Splinter groaned annoyance. "Michelangelo, you do not know the rest and if you did I would not be telling you the story. Unfortunately, Saki found her alone. Things might have gone much differently if Yoshi had been home. She was very frightened."

"He hurt her!?" Terrible things happened to girls found alone sometimes, in those books and movies and television, just like Splinter had said -

"Not at first. You are forgetting, Saki was very much in love with Shen. He begged and pleaded with her to return with him to Japan. He said quite a number of foolish things, but he meant them all the same. He was, for a time, prepared to forgive all, but she spurned him again, and that was when he lost his temper altogether and killed her with a single blow, breaking her neck. It was the event that changed his life, because he had killed the only love that he had ever known and now would never have again."

"And he's been mad at himself and the whole world ever since?" Even Mike could figure that one out. "But what's it got to do with Raph?" He still couldn't put it together, and even Donatello was looking at Splinter with the same question in his eyes.

"You weren't there," Leo said slowly, from just behind him.

Then Leo started to talk and when he was finished Mike was sitting up very straight and wide-eyed.

" _Raph_ gave her those bruises?!" It just didn't sound like Raph. Mike had noticed the discoloration on Megan's forearm, had thought that she'd just taken some rough treatment from The Foot, like the rest of them had. It certainly explained why Raphael was so upset. "Raph did? But I thought - "

"We have all made too many assumptions, Michelangelo. We all assumed ourselves safe, there at the farm. We were proven wrong. We have all been very lucky," Splinter said again. "And none of us luckier than Raphael."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Donatello asked. "He's having anxiety attacks or something - "

Splinter nodded. "Or something... Raphael is strong," he said. "But he has a keen sense of recall and he was in great danger, for a time. He would not thank me for the observation but in some ways he is rather like Shredder. They are both prone to be rash. And they both have quick tempers . Raphael, however, has learned to control his, to some degree. And he is not so self-indulgent as Shredder either. Still, it was power that touched Raphael, and such powers have an allure of their own. Oroku Saki gave into it long ago and it is an addiction that feeds on itself. Power is not something easily given up, once attained."

Michelangelo traded a very worried glance with both of his brothers, but it was Leo that got the question out first.

"Is Raph...is he still in some danger from it?"

Leonardo's eyes were wide with alarm. Leo had _been_ there -

The show of concern touched Splinter and he smiled at them all slowly and with genuine warmth. "No, No he is not, Raphael has tasted power," he said quietly. "But he did not much care for the flavour, I will say it again - your brother has been extraordinarily lucky...he had something far more powerful protecting him. But I believe we have already discussed that once or twice before. And I hope - " Splinter added thoughtfully "- that perhaps you have all learned something valuable from it."

Leo leaned back in his seat, lapsing into one of his own meditative postures, "The true force that binds - " he murmured, and Splinter nodded sagely.

"Hmm. Love conquers all?" Donatello said, bringing a tiny smile to their Master's features.

Then they all looked at him, waiting for his own comment. Leo and Don had already used up the best ones though.

"Michelangelo?" Splinter finally prompted him.

Michelangelo shrugged and sighed. "Well I'm glad it all worked out," he said. "But I still think that there has to be an easier way to get a girl - "

~o~

It was one of the last things that Megan McLaine had left to do - and the girl had been putting it off.

April was in the driver's seat of the van and Megan was there beside her, sitting in the same passenger seat she'd occupied that first day that they'd met. And again, it was very early in the day, just about an hour before sunrise.

The frenzy that had begun at the farm had endured. It had been one mad rush after another, just trying to get away before The Foot began to recover...Casey and Leo had dealt with quite a few, had tied up a number, had tranquilized some more, and the rest had just been knocked unconscious, some of them by her own hand...and they had wanted to be gone themselves, and gone far, before those Foot had come to again. There had been a record dash out to the barn - Casey had gone with Megan to get all of her paperwork and identification, which fortunately, The Foot had not come across in their initial search of the premises; Megan had tucked the papers into an old cookie tin to protect them from rodent predation and the papers had remained safe from The Foot as well as from the barn mice. Casey had come back with a pair of bolt cutters, and freed Splinter of the chains and the manacles, and then taken the cutters to all the other empty restraints, staging the scene so that it wouldn't look as if they'd all been freed by key.

Leo and Raph had gotten their brothers into the back of the van and reclaimed all of their own weapons. Splinter had disappeared for a moment, had vanished to tie up a loose but very important end with that ringful of keys...

They had explained it all, on the drive back, or some of it. It had severely bothered April leaving Trevor Marshall behind, even after the explanation, but she supposed that it was better than having the other twin turn up dead somewhere, and she had liked the part about their intention to take The Foot down from the inside. She wished them luck. She would have liked to help them out in that venture.

Something, though, had been seriously wrong with Raphael.

He'd seemed quite himself at first, had kept moving, muttering obscenities under his breath until everything was done. He had hovered in the back of the van, close to his brothers and close to Megan, who had watched him with a deep concern and a large number of comforting hugs. Splinter too, had been watching Raphael, and eventually the scrutiny had gotten to him, or something had, and Raphael had shaken himself free of Megan and retreated to the furthest back corner of the van. He'd wrapped his arms around his knees and tucked his head into his shell. She had never seen Raphael that upset, and the worry had multiplied when Splinter had demanded that Casey pull over, and he had then taken Raphael off into the bush at the side of the road for a long talk. She had tried to go after them, but Leo wouldn't allow it, and the explanation about Raphael not wanting to have killed Shredder had only satisfied her at the time because she'd been glad enough herself not to have killed Tatsu - it had seemed reasonable.

Still, her instincts told her there was more to it than that, but she hadn't pried it out of any of them yet...not a Turtle, Rat or girl were admitting to whatever it was, and eventually she'd had to put it down to her own imagination, because it wasn't like any of them to keep things from her.

The frenzy hadn't finished there either. The den had been undisturbed. None of the searches, of official or other origin, had ever turned that specific direction but the place needed re-stocking, something that Casey and Megan saw to, as her own shoulder had wound up in a sling after a visit to an all-night walk-in medical clinic. Mike and Don recovered, and then there had been one more trip upstate - Casey and Leo had decided they would make one more sweep through the property, as they'd tied up and hidden some of those Foot pretty deeply in the bush, and neither of them had liked the idea that those Foot might not have been found. April had checked, and there had been no reports from the local authorities that the farm had been torched, something that she wouldn't have put past Shredder, not after what had happened to her last apartment. Donatello had gone along with them, and they'd all come back a few days later with the majority of their personal belongings, the leftover provisions, most of Don's unfinished bo and all of their hammocks. The Foot had all been gone, had been located by their comrades, or had managed to extricate themselves from their bonds.

The nearly dislocated shoulder had excused April from work for a few days, but those had been spent helping Megan to get her paperwork finished up. The money from a moderately-sized insurance policy was still waiting for her north of the border, in an account that was now legally her own. The arrangements for her chosen courses had been made at a Canadian university, one that wasn't, geographically speaking, very far away, and in fact, much closer than the one she'd originally planned for in the Midwest. Both the bank and the school were things that Megan was fairly certain that Allan Marshall hadn't been aware of, and something too, that she had never seen fit to discuss with the twins. So it wasn't likely that they could inadvertently let it slip while they were still playing dangerous games with The Foot Clan. The money wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to take care of one rather thrifty university student for a few years. April had made a discreet inquiry or two and no one, it seemed, had looked that far afield in their efforts to trace the girl. Megan was very quietly going to close out the account, transfer the funds to another institution and just trust that nobody would try to track it any further than that.

Right now, Megan was in the process of making her good-byes. In couple of days she would be on her way.

This particular farewell though, was likely to be the most painful.

It was the first visit that Megan had made to the cemetery where her parents were buried. At least, it was the first visit since her mother had died...Megan knew the way from the spot where April had parked the van, and had told her she wouldn't get lost.

"I'll come," April had offered. The cemetery wasn't likely to be a favorite haunt for many muggers, but she still didn't like to take chances, even if Casey and the Turtles and Splinter were all out there somewhere, patrolling the premises by prior agreement. Megan's bus was leaving in two days and they weren't willing to start taking unnecessary risks now.

Megan smiled "In a couple of minutes. I won't be long...just give me five?"

It was impossible to say no. "Alright...I'll be along soon then." Five minutes wasn't asking for too much. It. wasn't like the girl was going to break into hysterics or anything...Megan wasn't natured that way. She had already pretty much come to grips with the fact that. her mother was gone, and she had little enough use for pointless sentimental displays. April had talked with Megan, and Splinter had confirmed that she and her mother had parted on good terms - there wasn't much unresolved angst that the girl had to deal with. But the leave-taking wasn't just an empty exercise either.

She remembered her own father, who had passed away just as suddenly - of an aneurism, rather than foul play - and it had still taken some coping...she'd been in university herself then.

She gave Megan the five minutes and then some, locking up the van and following along after at a leisurely pace. It might just have been a lack of preparation at the time, but Allan Marshall had arranged to have his wife buried with her first husband...or maybe it was something that Melissa Marshall herself had requested. Megan was standing close to the double grave with her back turned and her shoulders slumped. April approached slowly, not to disturb the girl. But Megan straightened as she neared and raised a hand, maybe to wipe away a tear or two.

"Megan..." April began. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, April - " Megan's voice cracked as she turned, but it wasn't with grief. Megan was smiling, even through the tears. "How could I not be - look!" Megan pulled her in closer, sweeping one arm toward the area near their feet.

It was hard not to be moved...it was so wonderful to have friends. And even more wonderful yet, because there _could_ be such special friends, no matter how they had come about.

Megan had brought along a modest bouquet of flowers to leave behind and she had already placed them on the grave - right in the midst of the five large bunches of wildflowers that had already been placed there first...

~o~


	15. True Forces - Epilogue

**True Forces Epilogue**

The whole place smelled of diesel fuel. The sewers under the bus terminal always did, which was one of the reasons that the Turtles generally avoided the area.

Tonight, they were here for a reason.

Raphael had slowed when the fumes had first become detectable. He became more reluctant to move forward at all, the closer they got. Megan was leaving and he was trying to put it off for as long as possible. They had talked about it for a long time. They knew it was inevitable.

He knew where she was going and what she was going to do when she got there. She would write to him, she'd promised, and would call too, not only as soon as she got there, but on a regular basis after that as well.

Out of the country sounded rather safe, but that didn't make it any easier. He just plain didn't want to say goodbye...

She slowed down with him, and eventually, they were lagging far behind his brothers and Splinter too. April and Casey had already said their farewells, and Raph knew that Meg had their names, numbers and addresses carefully logged in such personal files as she maintained. He sort of wished he had an address of his own - any and all correspondence would have to done Care-Of-April, and that already put her at arms-length in his mind. Even phone calls were going to have to be carefully monitored...they tapped the system not-quite-illegally, and he hadn't the faintest notion what long distance activity might do to their low profile telecommunications. Donatello had already warned him.

They had gone for a long walk, the night before, just the two of them, had wandered the storm drains for quite some time before settling on a dry ledge close to an outside grate. And then they had talked for twice as long again.

They had talked about everything - then she had reached over and peeled his mask off again, just like she had that time on the dock - and she had put goodbye right out of his head.

They had talked about everything, except for goodbye. He just hadn't been able to bring the topic up, not last night, had not wanted to spoil it. Raphael shuffled now, with his arms folded, standing up to his ankles in gutter water, diesel fumes filling the air and all of his brothers peering down the tunnel at him as he tried to find the right and proper way to get the word out.

It was very simple. He didn't want to say it, didn't want for her to go anywhere without him. _I'm more ostrich than Mikie_ , he thought then, cursing himself. _Why didn't I do this last night when I had her all alone..._

He'd had some nonsense, a few romantic notions about goodbye - and this sewer in particular was about as non-romantic as one could get.

She'd been waiting for him, had waited all last night and looked prepared to wait all night now, would miss her bus if she did - Megan had that sort of patience. She looked at him now with eyes that were full of understanding and deep sentiment - a look that left him aching. What was he going to do without her?

"You don't have to say goodbye, Raph - " Megan said, pulling his folded arms apart to pick up his hands and squeeze them. "I'm not going away forever."

He felt a blush creeping up his face. "Meg! Don't - " he dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "They're all watching - "

She just squeezed his fingers more tightly. Smiled. "Let 'em." And she let her gaze go sidelong, glancing toward his brothers as if checking to make sure that they _were_ watching. Then she put her nose right to his and kissed him. "Be smug," she advised him sagely. "You got the girl. Just remember that. You. Not them."

She always knew exactly what to say. Raphael didn't try to pull away, just stared into her eyes in that wonderful nose to nose proximity and knew that she had it right.

"Smug." He repeated the word. "Never thought of that." Embarrassment usually precluded it.

"Smug. It'll shut 'em up."

All the knots were back again, the ones he thought he'd sorted out already. "I don't want you to go Meg!" he blurted out suddenly. "If you go away I won't have the girl and how can I be smug then? I - "

She'd shaken one of her hands out of his and brought it up to silence his objections. "Shut it. None of that." Her tone was stern but her eyes were all soft understanding again. "Don't you go smarmy on me now. Got a present for you here someplace - "

Megan let go and reached into the pocket of the nylon jacket she was wearing, pulling out a small, flat box.

 _She would - damn._ Raphael drew breath, raising another objection.

"Don't get excited. You'll know what to do with 'em." She pushed the box into his hands and waited for him to open it.

At least it wasn't jewellery. He had to smile when he pulled out a pair of acrylic key fobs, two clear plastic discs, both with a single yellow daisy perfectly preserved in the hardened resin.

And she accused _him_ of smarm -

"What are these supposed to be, huh?" He held them up, one dangling on each finger. "Earrings?"

 _Yellow daisies. Damn-_

"Weeds." Megan shrugged. "Thought you might like a souvenir."

"Huh. Mikie confess?"

"Sort of." She shrugged again. "I persuaded him."

"I'll bet you did." He looked down at them, two silly little yellow daisies in cheap plastic and all the knots loosened, dissolved. She really did know everything... probably had, all along.

"Raph - "

"You're gonna miss your bus." They had not left themselves a lot of time, had not wanted Megan sitting around waiting where she might be spotted by watchers...they put nothing past Shredder nowadays.

"I'm waiting."

"Yeah...I know." He did, really did know just what to with the things. Raphael picked up one of her hands and pressed one of the key-chains into it, closing her fingers over it and squeezing her hand. His eyes never left hers.

"Friends?"

"Friends," she confirmed softly. "Hey...forever, Raph." And her hand came up to touch his nose...

Don would have called it a Kodak Moment. A moment was all it was. But it was another one of those timeless ones that he would recall lifelong. It was easier after that than he'd thought, getting her topside and away.

He never did say goodbye...knew by then that he didn't have to.

He toyed with the key fob, took the time to look at it for a while under a sewer bulb before his brothers would come along to harass him. He smiled.

 _Weeds..._ oh, yeah. For sure.

It was memories there in his hand. All that and something else too, in his heart. _Forever._

Raphael decided that there really was something to all that romantic nonsense after all - but he would still peel the shell off the first Turtle that dared to call him _Vincent_.

~o~

Curiosity, Splinter thought, not for the first or the last time, would, one day, be Michelangelo's undoing. Splinter had led their little entourage to the bus terminal, something that he'd done many times years ago, when he'd had to keep four, much smaller Turtles busy...he would bring them and assign them the task of mining coins and any other small valuables which travellers invariably lost and which they had attempted to re-claim, sometimes successfully. Leonardo had found a real diamond ring once while Splinter had been touring the back alleys of nearby hotels and restaurants for more life-sustaining fare -

It had been hard work then. Feeding four growing mutant Turtles had been a challenge and a chore, almost as great a task as keeping their hands busy and their minds occupied. Splinter settled himself on a large pipe there against the wall and wrinkled his nose at the fumes. He had turned the corner, had lost sight of Megan McLaine and Raphael. His own farewells had been made and he would not see the girl now until Christmas, likely. She had plans to come at the holiday season. He directed his gaze back the way he'd come, to the three Turtles hovering there at the junction, ostensibly to wave goodbye, but surreptitiously being extremely nosy. He cleared his throat loudly.

Leonardo nudged Donatello, and by mute agreement and absolute necessity, they picked Michelangelo up between them and pulled him around the corner.

"But it's just getting interesting!" Michelangelo objected. "It's-"

"You can ask Raph for details later." Leonardo told him.

"Oh, right. Sure." Michelangelo complained. "Ask Raph." Of course, it was not something he would do. "And get my shell peeled off. How're we ever gonna find out what we're missin,' dudes!?"

"Write Megan and ask." Donatello suggested. "She'll tell."

"Yeah - tell me a thing or two she will, just like Raph - com'on, we're ninjas, we can just sneak on over and - "

That sort of banter went on, until a bus thundered over a nearby grate and drowned out the good-natured chatter. Donatello consulted his watch. "Hey guys, time!"

They all vanished, each finding themselves a manhole to climb and to make sure, by prior agreement, that Megan got on the bus safely.

They were all so grown up now, he mused, and wondered when it had happened. Still growing, in other directions now... Raphael was likely getting himself kissed goodbye -

 _Good for Raphael..._

Splinter didn't have any real regrets or misgivings that way. A little envy, perhaps, if anything. They had worked it out, the two of them, had hammered out their own peace, compromise that it was. He wasn't worried about them anymore. Whatever came of it, wasn't going to be up to him, in any case...

He waited patiently, in spite of the diesel taint in the air and had it figured just about right as to when the Turtles would show up again. And naturally, it was Michelangelo that went to peer around the corner first, looking for Raphael.

"Hey Raph! Let's go!" he shouted impatiently. "Think we got all night or something?"

"Why? We gonna go downtown?" came the irritated response.

Leonardo and Donatello whooped, headed that direction. The Turtles liked downtown. Raphael appeared at the junction, was slipping something securely into his waistband for safekeeping.

"So - what'd she give ya, Raph?" Michelangelo grilled his brother, knowing that Megan had made requests and received goods unknown from April. "Did she - "

"Weeds, Mikie. She gave me some weeds. Okay?"

Michelangelo's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Get serious dude! I'll find out, sooner or later, you know I will!"

Raphael just shrugged. "Weeds," he said again, and then looked to Splinter as Leonardo shouted for the two of them to hurry up.

"I will see you all at home," Splinter told them calmly. "Behave yourselves." He dismissed them with the advice, not at all expecting they would take it to heart and follow it.

"Downtown! Raph! Mikie! Let's go!" Leonardo repeated the impromtu plan."

Donatello yelled too. "We're gonna pick up some girls!"

 _"Alright!"_ Michelangelo was an irrepressible optimist.

Raphael rolled his eyes roofward. "Good luck - " he shouted down the tunnel, slogging along after Michelangelo.

"Hey - no sweat!"

"You - " Leonardo retorted faintly in the distance. "You got one, Raph! Guess that means anyone can!"

Raphael stopped, there in the gutter and shook his head with his hands on his hips. He turned and looked back to where Splinter was standing, now at the junction and ready to get himself home by another, much shorter route.

"Later - " Raphael waved him off, and moved along after his brothers smartly.

He did not think he had ever seen Raphael looking so very...well, so very _smug -_

Splinter just stood there and shook his own head. _"Kids..."_


End file.
